


Hostile 18

by AlloSpoike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Dramedy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlloSpoike/pseuds/AlloSpoike
Summary: Complete! Buffy just can’t seem to shake that dream.  The 314 project is off the table and Maggie Walsh has her sights set on something a little closer to home.  Somehow Buffy finds herself turning to the enemy in her hour of need, with complicated consequences.Starts around S04E07 but please allow a little wiggle room on the timings of certain events.
Relationships: Spike & Buffy Summers, Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue

Spike had her cornered. Buffy had taken off at a sprint while he was preoccupied with the four-headed hell beast, and she’d been running flat out for what felt like miles. “How did you catch up with me?” she asked as she glanced left and right, hoping for an escape route and finding walls stretched out sky high on either side of her. Damn. She was really stuck now. She made to duck under his arms, which were outstretched as though he were a heavyweight boxing champ inviting applause from his adoring fans as he entered the ring. He grabbed her easily by the legs, flipping her up and over his shoulder where he ran lightning-fast down the alley that had now filled with fog.

Before she knew what was happening, she was in the downstairs portion of his crypt, hiding behind a dusty tomb where she could hear him shouting, “Come out, come out wherever you are. You can run but you can’t hide from the Big Bad Wolf. Grandma can’t save you now.” She held her breath, afraid to give away her location, cursing herself for misplacing the huge stake she had held only moments ago. Suddenly he was upon her, hands on the back of her shoulders, but when he turned her round to face him, they were outside in the cemetery. 

“How did we get here?” she asked.

“We were always here,” Spike replied serenely. He handed her an empty green plastic bottle and looked at her expectantly, “Oh don’t tell me you didn’t bring the gasoline. How are we meant to get the fire going without it?”

“I have it,” she said, “or, I had it. It was here a moment ago.” She rifled through her bag, but every time she looked at an object her vision began to blur so she was no longer sure what she was seeing. The floor beneath them crumbled and he leapt into a sideways roll, grabbing her as he did so. When they came to a rest, they were in a field and it was daylight now, but she was unsurprised to see Spike floating in a sea of forget me nots. They had always been there, after all. She reached out and grabbed his hand but as she tightened her grip on him, it disintegrated into dust and she turned to find him gone. Panic rose in her chest and she stood to find that she was in a crowd of people so dense that the flowers beneath their feet could no longer be seen. She pushed through irritable revellers who were holding beer cans, hot dogs and foam fingers, milling about waiting for the party to start. “Spike?” she yelled, elbowing a man in a toga to one side, “Where are you? Spike!”

She heard Giles’ voice then and realised she was on his sofa, eyes scrunched tight beneath a blanket, “What’re you on about now you silly girl, fell asleep watching the television, did you?” The harsh tone was unlike that with which he usually spoke to her and she was taken aback, “Probably dreaming about that bloody vampire, no doubt. When are you going to learn, Buffy?”

“I wasn’t dreaming about Angel,” Buffy replied.

“Who’s Angel? What on earth are you on about? I meant Spike.”

As though summoned by Giles’ words, Spike bounded through the door then, racing towards Buffy and pulling her roughly from the sofa where he slammed her to the ground. Only it wasn’t the ground, it was the luxurious marshmallow-soft bedding of a super king comforter in a grand hotel room hung with chandeliers, and when she saw Spike, she knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him for fear he might vanish once more. “Don’t leave me again Spike, I don’t want you to go.”

He was above her, kneeling between her open thighs, a hand idly working through a strand of her hair as he smirked at her, “And why is that, might I ask?”

She raised her eyebrows slightly as her shoulders twitched against the mattress in the hint of a shrug, arms raising to his waist where her fingers curled gently around his back. As she did so, she felt his hard cock strain against his boxers, meeting her barely-there ruby red satin pyjama shorts and gliding ever-so-slightly, maddeningly, back and forth against them. “Because I need you,” she answered.

At these words his grin intensified, “Of course you do. You always have.” His cock was deep inside her pussy now, and she neither knew nor cared where they had been a moment before. She was on all fours and he was behind her, roughly pulling her hips back as he drove his cock into her pussy. As her moans intensified, he relinquished his grip on one of her hips, winding a hand into her hair and pushing her head into the pillow to muffle her cries. Then she was on her knees, looking up at him with her mouth full of his cock, as deep as she could take it. “You’re a bloody marvel,” he said, “my vampire slayer.” He switched into game face then, brow bone jutting forward as his eyes flashed yellow, pulling away so his dick was no longer in her mouth and pushing her back hard by the shoulders so she fell to the floor. 

She didn’t land with a thud as she might’ve expected, but found that she was outside, leaning back on an inflatable pink armchair, floating in the shallow end of a dazzling blue pool, head thrown back with the sun warming her face, eyes safe behind oversized red sunglasses. A woman dressed in all white: flannel hot pants, a polo shirt and a visor, handed Buffy a drink and she looked up to see it was Drusilla. 

“I always knew you would end up with my Spike,” she said conversationally, “Nobody quickens your pulse quite like he does. Your room will be ready in ten minutes, Madam.” 

She curtsied and sidled off, ignoring Spike who was kneeling in the water in front of Buffy, pulling her white bikini bottoms aside so he could bury his face in her pussy. She let go of her glass, which was brimming with something sweet and orange, too many ice cubes and a paper umbrella, and it splashed into the water beside her as she lowered a hand to the back of his hair. He was flicking his tongue against her clit expertly, waves of pleasure building in her pussy as he did so. As she reached the brink of magnificent orgasm, he raised his head. She pushed her shades up, using them as a headband to hold back her hair, and looked to see why he had stopped. 

“Tell me,” he said, a hand on her thigh, tantalisingly close to her pussy.

“You really need me to say it?”

He raised another hand, one on each leg now, squeezing gently, “Tell me.”

“Spike, I love you.” 

The four walls of the pool shot apart then, blasting backwards as the water raised, as though parted by Moses himself. The light from the sun extinguished as Buffy Summers woke from her dream, twisting sharply and only just stopping herself from falling out of her bed. Her eyes fell on Willow, who was fast asleep, and she closed them for a moment, steadying herself with a couple of deep breaths before reaching for the glass of water beside her bed and taking a shaky sip. As the memories of the dream slowly returned to her, she pushed herself into an upright position. There was no way she was risking going back to sleep after that. 

“ _Why, oh why, could this not be one of the dreams that instantly vanishes the moment you try to remember it?”_ she thought grumpily, as she gave up on the warmth of the bed, padding gently across the floor to the bathroom to take a shower. Unfortunately, no amount of holding her head beneath the steady stream could wash away the vivid flashes of what Spike had – what she had – what they _both_ had been doing to each other in her dream last night. She could tell already that it was going to be a long day.


	2. Home Bloody Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the fun begins! We start with Spike in the Initiative, please allow a little wiggle room for prisoner arrivals, which have been shifted to suit the narrative.

Spike had been in his new home for all of five minutes. Well, he’d been awake for all of five minutes, anyway. He had done a few laps of the tiny room, kicking his big black boots across the large white tiles, which remained disappointingly unmarked by his rubber soles. He was now sat with his back against the far wall, elbows resting on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. He had pulled a barmaid’s phone number out of the pocket of his duster and was ripping off tiny pieces, balling them up between his fingers and flicking them at the glass panel, causing the electrified glass to activate in blue pinprick flashes of light.

“I don’t reckon it’s much cop in here,” he said conversationally, speaking loudly so the owner of the voice next door could hear, “Décor leaves a little to be desired.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about daylight,” came the voice. He had referred to himself as a lab rat earlier, and Spike couldn’t help but imagine him with ears and a long wormy pink tail.

“That’s a bloody jolly perspective, considering you’re just as royally fucked as I am, mate. Am I to infer that you’ve been dipping your paws in their drugged-up blood bags?”

“No, I’m holding out as long as I can. I don’t know where they take you once you drink them but I haven’t seen anyone come back,” he said.

“How long have you been here?”

“A few hours before they brought you in.” Spike shook his head. Fat lot of use this moron was turning out to be. “Right, so not exactly the font of all wisdom on that front, are you.”

“I’ve been here longer than you,” came the defensive reply.

“Oh, ever so sorry, I’m all out of medals,” said Spike sarcastically, increasingly riled at his situation and not finding his cell neighbour to be helping matters. The lab rat stopped speaking then; dull footsteps told Spike he was pacing his cell. He stood up, walking towards the glass and tapping it gently with a fingertip, receiving a small shock. It wasn’t that bad, once you knew it was coming. With his face a safe distance back from the window, he could see the neon lit corridor was lined with glass-fronted cells opposite him. He guessed his side looked the same. The other pens were currently devoid of prisoners, however. He looked around, hoping to find some small detail he had previously missed. He already knew the white tiled walls held nothing of interest. The ceiling had only a panel of neon light and a small trapdoor through which the bag of blood had been deposited. He had kicked it to the side of the room following the lab rat’s warning that it was drugged, but now walked over and picked it up, an idea beginning to percolate.

“What’s your name, mate?” Spike asked, forcing a friendly tone in the hopes that the rat would start talking to him again. He thought he might die of bleedin’ boredom if he didn’t reply, although he was making no promises to himself that he would maintain a friendlier air. He was no Angel, after all. 

“I’m Tom.” Success.

“Got a bag of blood in there with you, Tom?” asked Spike.

“Yeah, why?” came the curious reply. Spike got the distinct impression his gentle-voiced fellow inmate was a follower and not a leader. Time to test the theory.

“I wanna see who’s working here,” said Spike, “You and I are going to stage a little protest.”

A few minutes later, they were both carefully nibbling at the edges of their blood bags. Spike had slipped into game face so he could use his fangs, biting slowly so as not to let any of the tainted blood get into his mouth. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

“3, 2, 1 go,” said Spike lazily, squeezing the bottom of his bag in both hands so that the blood spurted out in a thin arc from the hole he had created, pointed at the glass. It met the electrified surface with a satisfying crackling sound, as Spike directed the stream this way and that, drawing curved lines with a grin on his face. Finally, some fun to be had. He heard the same sounds next door. Yep, definitely a follower. “What’d you draw on yours?” he asked the lab rat.

“A smiley face,” came the voice, “How about you?” 

“A smiley face?” Spike thought to himself, “Just how gormless is this twat?”

“I drew a nob, naturally,” Spike replied, admiring his handiwork as, right on cue, footsteps came running from down the corridor, signalling Spike’s first chance for escape.

He watched through the gaps in the large graffitied blood-penis as four camo-clad heavies approached the cell at a trot, the first inputting a code on a button panel on the wall outside with a series of high-pitched bleeps. The door lifted open with a smooth whooshing noise, Spike’s dripping red illustration disappearing upwards into the ceiling, as he readied himself to take them out. He dropped to the floor, rolling sideways and knocking two of the squaddies out like skittles. However, as he leapt to his feet to start on the last pair, he saw a flash of light, felt the sting of the taser and out went his lights.

When he awoke, he was in an identical cell. He wasn’t sure if it was the same one, there was no blood on the glass but there was that bloody depressing view, a uniform row of see-through cages. “Bollocks,” he yelled towards the ceiling from his position on the floor, thinking about how he was going to rip the slayer limb from limb the moment he got out of this godforsaken neon hellhole. Perhaps he would purchase a mirror especially for the occasion so she could watch as he maimed her. Usually, this was one of his favourite daydreams, but with the marked lack of freedom it left something to be desired.

“If it wasn’t for that bloody slayer, neither one of us would be in here,” he said, assuming the lack of response meant Tom the lab rat was still knocked out from his own dealings with whoever-those-bleedin’-army-blokes-were. Sure enough, a few minutes later he heard a groan followed by an, “Are you there, man?”

“No, I’ve escaped,” said Spike, rolling his eyes to himself.

“Really?” came the excited reply.

“No, you daft git, you can hear me.”

“Oh. I thought you might be waiting to let me out.” He sounded disappointed. Spike thought he’d done too good of a job of making himself sound friendly if this berk thought he was gonna hang around to play the white knight once he found his way out of here.

“What did they do to you?” he asked the rat.

“They tased me. Same as when they caught me the first time.”

“Snap,” Spike replied, “not exactly soddin’ creative doing us both the same way, but then I suppose that’s military types for you. Always following protocol. At least we’ve learned one thing, they’re definitely watching us.” He flicked two fingers up in the general direction of the corridor, not knowing where the cameras were.

“Will anyone be looking for you?” Tom asked, as Spike lifted himself to his feet once more, “I’m fairly sure the slayer finished off my whole crew.”

“Not bloody likely,” said Spike, thinking about Harmony and how she couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, let alone break him out of some sort of sophisticated underground army base, “and anyway, who said we want anyone looking for us? I take care of myself. Speaking of which, who’s a vamp gotta speak to about takin’ a piss around here?” If it weren’t for the distinct lack of escape route, he might have gone in the corner, but he didn’t much fancy being holed up like a zoo creature with his own effluvia. 

The solution arrived not long after, when the rhythmic trudge of booted feet grew louder in the distance, signalling the approach of more soldier boys. Clearly, they had decided that Spike was a bigger threat than they had first assessed. He was annoyed when he counted six of them stopping outside his cell this time, each carrying a rifle-sized taser. He couldn’t help but feel ever so slightly proud at having achieved significant threat status, however. It was always nice to know your reputation preceded you, he thought. 

Being in a cell, cornered and weapon-less, was a bit further out of his comfort zone than he usually liked to be, but that didn’t mean Spike was going down without a fight. Before punching in the code, a young black soldier pressed another button which turned out to be an intercom, barking, “Hostile 17, stand back and prepare for relocation,” through the speaker.

Spike thought of King Gouijan, whose army were famous for intimidating the enemy at the beginning of a battle. His soldiers would march forward, but as they reached the opposition, the men on the front line would draw their swords, slitting their own throats in a grisly display of fearlessness. Of course, it wasn’t ideal for the unlucky buggers on the front row but Spike was certain it had been a highly effective strategy from the king’s perspective. He’d always admired the ingenuity. He had no desires do anything so extreme himself. He was rather fond of his neck in its intact state, and he didn’t have a sword even if he did decide to go all war re-enactment. He decided on an approach more befitting his personality instead. 

Taking a large step forward towards the glass, he raised a pair of middle fingers, pushing them defiantly into the electrified glass, bracing internally for the zap. As his hands lit up ice-blue with electricity, he bit his lip in faux sexual pleasure, half-closing his eyes as the jolts went through his hand. That seemed to do the trick. The faces of the men soured with disgust, Spike noticing the smallest flinch from one of them with extreme satisfaction. 

The message came again, “Stand back and prepare for relocation, you have been warned.” Spike grinned, sticking his tongue out to lick a crackling blue line slowly up the glass, making eye contact with the soldier who had spoken. It buzzed rather painfully, seemingly all the way down his throat but he didn’t react. He was revelling in his homage to the Chinese army. He winked at the soldiers then, grateful to Dru and her mad sodding sex games for giving him some prior experience in the cattle prod department.

As the soldier keyed in the code, the remaining five stooped to the ground, pointing their mega-tasers at the place where the door would open. “Oh bugger,” thought Spike, guessing what was about to come but far too proud to take a step back. Instead, he taunted, “Those are some bloody big tasers you’ve got there, lads, are you over-compensating for something?” As the glass flew upwards, he leapt deftly into the air, avoiding the first round of tasing and managing to land on the barrel of one of the weapons, which snapped in two with a loud crack. Twin bursts hit him then, one on each leg, as two of the soldiers lunged at him in unison like an electric camo lobster. His muscles convulsed wildly for a second, jerking him about like a grotesque marionette before he lost consciousness for the third time.

When Spike’s eyes flew open, he saw that he was in a slightly more permanent-looking residence. The room was about the same size, but the tiles were smaller, grey rather than white. A miniscule basin clung to the side of a basic metal toilet, both of which were half a stone’s throw from a low single bunk, which was built directly into the ground. It was covered in the same boring tiles, broken up only by a flimsy blue foam pad masquerading as a mattress and a light fleece blanket in the same hideous shade. He assumed from the lack of external windows that he was either underground, or in the centre of the building, but supposed it didn’t much matter one way or the other. At least he could piss in peace.

Gone was the large glass-panelled door. Instead, an industrial looking large metal one stood in its place. It had a small rectangular gap with a flat surface at the bottom. Presumably, this was where items could be posted through to the inmates. Above this was a pane of glass only slightly wider than Spike’s head. A smart rap of the knuckles told him there was no electricity this time. “More’s the pity,” thought Spike, who had been thinking he might be able to conjure up a decent wank from the memory of his past antics with Drusilla, with a well-timed zap or two. They didn’t call it jolting your memory for nothing. Not that he was planning on being in here much longer, but one did get nostalgic from time to time. He was in no doubt that Harm would have obliged his fantasy were he to ask, but some things were sacrosanct. He didn’t care to sully his fonder memories of Dru. His current squeeze was merely for convenience until he could find someone more his speed, anyhow.

Through the window, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A hand was flapping vigorously from a cell over the way and a couple of doors down. It was a chubby vamp with lank brown hair and a round face, presumably his lab rat pal. His head was only just clearing the window. He must have been on his tiptoes because he kept dipping down and bobbing back up again. He seemed delighted when Spike finally noticed him, raising an unenthusiastic hand of recognition. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said loudly, sound carrying through the food hatch.

“Boy am I pleased to see you. Us vamps gotta stick together. What’s your name anyway, friend, and who are you?”

“I’m Spike,” he said. He assumed everyone had heard of him round these parts but just in case, he added, “The Big Bad.”

***


	3. Careers Advice

“I bet I got an F,” said Buffy, ambling down the hall with Willow after their first class. 

“No way! You’re doing great, she told you last week.”

“What if she got me mixed up with someone else? Someone who was doing great and now she needs to tell me that she made a mistake and I got a big, fat F.”

“Buffy, you’re catastrophising,” Willow soothed. It was good to have a Buffy problem to take her mind off the swirling memory-montage of Oz that had been ever-present in her head. “And anyway,” she said helpfully, “Professor Walsh wouldn’t call you to her office if you got an F, she’d probably just tell you in front of everyone at the start of the lecture. She’s not exactly the friendliest teacher.”

“Oh wow, mega-helpful Will!” Buffy replied dramatically, “I’m dead, I know it.”

At the end of their lecture on the Stanford Prison experiments, Maggie Walsh had taken Buffy to one side and told her, “Buffy, if you have a free moment after lunch, I’d like you to stop by my office,” and the slayer’s head had been in full meltdown mode ever since.

“Sorry,” said Willow, “I’m no good at this. I’ve gotta shoot anyway, I’ve got a meeting at the study rooms with the wicca group and I wanna change first to make a good impression. I don’t think fuzzy yellow sweater screams, ‘serious witch alert’. Try not to freak out. I’ll meet you at Giles’ later, you can tell me all about how you totally blew it out of proportion while we stuff our faces with takeout.”

Buffy pulled a face. “Whatever you say.” She made off in the direction of the cafeteria with a lead weight of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. 

After lunch, she walked to Professor Walsh’s office, giving herself a pep talk in her head, “You’ll be fine. You literally kill vampires all the time. Stop being such a baby.”

As she reached the door with the brass plaque reading PROF M. WALSH, she took a steadying breath before knocking three times. The door swung open and she saw Riley was holding it. The professor was sat behind her desk. Buffy didn’t know whether Riley being there made her feel better or worse. It was nice to see a friendly face, but she wasn’t sure she wanted that friendly face to watch her flunk out of psych 101. 

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “You can’t fail me! I promise, I’ll rewrite that paper by the end of the week.” Professor Walsh looked non-plussed. Riley looked amused. He had walked to stand behind the professor’s desk and was standing with his right hand gripping his left wrist in front of him. He wore a green ribbed jumper and khaki slacks. Buffy thought he looked a bit like an Action Man. 

“I’m sorry if I worried you Buffy,” said the professor brusquely, without the faintest trace of apology in her tone, “this is actually a matter entirely unrelated to college. Won’t you take a seat.” Buffy wasn’t sure why this revelation seemed to make her palms even sweatier, but she sat down, not removing the messenger bag which was slung across her shoulder. She didn’t get the impression that she was being invited to relax.

“I’ll cut straight to the point,” said Maggie Walsh, a woman whose stern demeanour had earned her a reputation on campus as somewhat of an ogre. She wore a long-sleeved charcoal shirt, a delicate silver chain falling to the neckline. The pearls of her stud earrings matched the one on her pendant. She looked well put together but unfussy. “Buffy, do you know who this is?” She gestured towards Riley with one hand.

“Sure, he’s Riley. He’s your TA,” said Buffy, pleased to have been asked a question she could answer. 

“Half right. This is Agent Riley Finn of the United States Army.” She briefly registered Buffy’s look of astonishment before continuing, “Both myself and Riley work for a specialised branch of the army known as the Initiative. We specialise in neutralising supernatural threats here in Sunnydale, to keep citizens safe from harm.”

“The Initiative?” said Buffy, as realisation dawned, “You! You’re the midnight dorm raider man!”

“That’s a new one,” said Riley, looking amused.

“We’ve been looking for you,” said Buffy.

“What a coincidence,” said the professor, “We’ve been looking for you, too.”

“Well, you found me,” said Buffy, thinking it was a strange choice of words from a woman whose lecture she had been in not two hours previously, “I haven’t exactly been hiding.”

“I’m not referring to you as one of my psych students,” she explained, “We’ve been looking for the slayer.” 

Buffy’s stomach felt like a pond which had just had a large stone gargoyle dropped into it. She suddenly felt the strong desire to be on the receiving end of a failing grade. Anything but this. How did they know she was the slayer? She wanted to puke. After all the efforts she went to, keeping up the façade of being Buffy the College Student, she’d been found out. Wherever the hell this conversation was going, it couldn’t be good.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. We got information direct from several Hostile sub-terrestrials in our custody - vampires. I have to tell you, I was sceptical at first. I thought the slayer was just a myth.”

“Sure, because vampires you can believe in but anything else supernatural is just way too far-fetched?” 

“After we carried out our own research, we were satisfied that our intelligence was correct. You’re the chosen one.”

“What does that mean, you’ve been following me?” Riley averted his eyes.

The professor, in her swivel chair with her hands loosely clasped together on the edge of her desk, looked at her unashamedly. “Naturally.”

“Oh great. Look Professor, what exactly is this about? Sounds like we’re on the same side here. You’re the army, right? I’m not too sure what business you could have putting a tail on me. If you’re after vamps, we’re fighting the same bad guys.”

“Precisely.” Buffy found herself fixed with a cold blue-eyed stare, so direct she felt as though she were being impaled by her teacher’s gaze. “You see Buffy, we’re in the business of catching and studying vampires and other demons, or as we call then, HSTs. The government conducts research to see how we can best control the demon population to keep them at bay. And where better to start than by coming to the vampire slayer herself?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in me,” said Buffy, “I thought I was a myth.”

“Come on Buffy, just hear us out,” said Riley gently. Buffy got the impression this was not a topic of discussion she could opt out of. “Fine, go ahead.”

The professor took the floor again, “We would love to invite you on board as part of the Initiative as a consultant. All we ask is that you work out a schedule with us, we can fit it around your other responsibilities, and one or two days a week you’ll come to our special facility. We’ll provide you with weapons, armour, whatever you need, and vampires of course. We just want to see you do what you do best, so we can learn from you.”

“So, you bring me down to your fight club, I stake a vamp and that’s it? No strings attached; I go home?” The years she’d spent with Giles as her watcher had only served to enforce her anti-establishment leanings, even more so since he’d been fired as her watcher. Buffy had found post-Council life to be far preferable. “Something like that,” said the professor, somewhat evasively. “We’re happy to compensate you for your time, I think you’ll find it’s a satisfactory sum of money. What do you think?”

Buffy was struggling to choose her words diplomatically, but reminded herself this was her college lecturer, despite the intrusive nature of the conversation. “Look professor, this is all extremely sudden. I usually try to keep my chosen one status strictly on a need-to-know basis. Not that I’m not super flattered to find that you’ve taken an interest. I’m gonna need to talk to Gi –” she stopped herself from saying Giles’ name, figuring the Initiative already knew far too much. “I’m gonna need to mull it over,” she said in her best impression of a professional in a business meeting.

“Fine,” said the professor, a stern expression on her face as though she thought it rather impertinent to ask for thinking time, “Same time tomorrow. I’m teaching a class after lunch but Riley’s covering my office hours, you can come and let him know then.”

“Tomorrow,” said Buffy, thinking a day’s notice was unduly pushy. It didn’t seem like the matter was up for debate. She turned to Riley, “See you then, Agent Riley Finn of the United States Army.”

“Riley’s fine,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable, “see you tomorrow. And Buffy? It’s a great opportunity, just think how many lives you could save if you helped us get better a better understanding of these guys.”

“Mm-hmm,” was her non-committal response as she stood up, relieved to be getting out of there.

“And Buffy? I expect you to keep what we’ve talked about between us,” said Walsh, standing up to walk Buffy to the door, “It’s best that your classmates don’t find out what’s going on here on campus. It tends to interfere with our cover when civilians get wind of secret operations.” If this was an attempt at a joke, it fell flat. Levity didn’t suit her.

“Not a word,” said Buffy, turning to walk quickly but calmly down the hallway, away from the office and through the double doors, before running full-pelt to the study rooms to find Willow.

“Hey Willow, hey Willow’s friends,” said Buffy, panting heavily as she clattered her way loudly through the door, opening it into a stack of chairs which had been moved aside to make space on the carpet. The wiccans were a circle of cross-legged girls, all but one of whom looked affronted at her unexpected appearance, “Hate to butt in but, Will, I’m gonna need you to come with me, like, pronto.” Willow jumped to her feet, grabbing her bag and smiling apologetically at her fellow witches.

“Sorry ladies, duty calls,” she said. She was getting the feeling this had nothing to do with Buffy’s psych grades. As they left the room, Buffy grabbed her wrist with a, “No time to explain,” and they made off towards Giles’ at a run.

***

Giles was having a lovely afternoon. He’d just finished an interesting article in The Guardian about the Battle of Marston Moor and was currently stood in the kitchen buttering a slice of malt loaf. Wagner was belting from the record player, the sun was streaming through the window and he was looking forward to Buffy and the others coming over later that day for a spot of supper. A few new books had arrived in the post that morning and he was expecting to get some rare peace so he could get round to cataloguing them once he’d finished his snack. He smiled to himself as he conducted a few bars of ‘Lohengrin’ with a pointer finger, dipping into the cutlery drawer for a cake fork and weaving between the furniture with his tea plate before taking a seat at the dining table. He had barely raised the first morsel to his lips before the girls came barging in, startling him so thoroughly that he upended the entire plateful into his lap, butter side down onto his newly laundered russet slacks.

“We found the storm troopers!” announced Buffy between gulps of air, leaning over with her hands clutching the fronts of her thighs as Willow did the same two feet behind.

“Oh marvellous,” said Giles, the good news taking the edge off his butter-stained trousers, at which he was currently dabbing with the corner of a napkin, without great success.

“Or should I say, they found me.”

***

“And now I have to go back tomorrow and tell them what I want to do.” Buffy was sat around the table with Giles and Willow, having told them all about the afternoon’s meeting.

“Well, what do you make of it all?” asked Giles, trying to sound neutral but thinking, “No slayer of mine is joining the bloody US army.”

“Do you really have to ask? You know how I feel about organised slay-age. I’m hardly the poster girl for the Watchers Council.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” said Giles proudly, furrowing his brow as he nudged his wire rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

“Besides, Walsh got kinda cagey on me when I asked if it was no strings attached.”

“It’s gonna be way awkward turning up to her class every week if you tell her no,” said Willow, ever the academically minded one.

“Oh crap, I didn’t even think of that,” said Buffy, “think it’s too late to transfer?”

“Oh poppycock,” said Giles, ignoring the looks of delight on the girls’ faces at his old-fashioned Britishness, “I see no reason why your school work should have anything to do with this. Professor Walsh is a professional, after all. I can’t see what an entire government department should want with one measly slayer anyway.”

“Hey! I have skills, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for one second. But it does strike me as unusual that this Initiative have been off our radar for all this time and suddenly, they seem to be everywhere. I should certainly hesitate to join forces with such a great unknown if I were you.”

“Yeah, and they told you they found out about you from a vamp? That doesn’t sit right with me,” added Willow. It had made Buffy uneasy too, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. 

Giles nailed it in one, “Yes, I should like to know exactly what it is they’re doing to a Sunnydale vampire to get them to co-operate, it’s not exactly their modus operandi to take actions that are in your best interests.”

“That’s it then. I’m gonna march into that office tomorrow and tell that Agent Riley no dice.”

“An excellent choice.”

Buffy’s face fell as she realised she was actually going to have to go through with the actions she’d described, “Hey, don’t suppose you wanna do it for me?”

“I’m afraid you’re on your own,” said Giles, “after all, you promised the professor you would keep this information to yourself.”

“Oh yeah. Remind me why I did that again?”

At that moment, a sunny Xander walked through the door, “What’d I miss?”

***


	4. Vanishing Act

Xander and Buffy ate lunch on campus together the next day, the former having offered to provide moral support for Buffy’s turning down of her dazzling new military career. “Are you sure this doesn’t make me some kind of national traitor?” Buffy asked Xander as he reached across the picnic bench to help himself to her unfinished sandwich. 

“Hey, with the number of vamps you’ve killed, I think they should give you a free pass. Really you should get a trophy or a parade or something.”

“Who needs a trophy? I just want Walsh not to single me out for the rest of the semester,” said Buffy, grabbing her bag and gesturing to Xander that it was time to go, “Are you sure you don’t mind waiting while I go in?”

“Not at all,” he said. He wasn’t quite sure why his friend who was totally undaunted by a lifetime supply of monsters from hell was so freaked by this Maggie Walsh character, and he was a little disappointed he wasn’t going to get a look at her. Buffy spotted Riley walking down the corridor and shooed Xander away from her with a surreptitious swish of her hand behind her back, straightening up to her full height as she followed him to the door. “Hey Riley,” she said from behind him, a little louder than necessary for the benefit of Xander, who got the message and faded back into the throng of students. Riley started slightly at the sound of her voice but recovered quickly. “Buffy! You made it. Come on in.”

Walking through the door, she was surprised to see two young men stood in the office, behind Walsh’s chair, in the same stance Riley had adopted yesterday. Riley himself took Walsh’s seat. “Movin’ on up,” thought Buffy, though she noticed Riley sat stiffly in the chair as if painfully aware it did not belong to him. “Buffy, these are two more of our agents, Agent Forrest Gates and Agent Graham Miller.” He gestured to the two soldiers in turn. Buffy glanced up, not paying a great deal of attention to the college-aged men, both of whom had shaved heads and good posture, standing either side of Agent Finn like sentries. She vaguely recognised them as Riley’s lunch buddies from the cafeteria but was busy feeling overwhelmed by the mounting tension of the question she knew was lined up next.

“I’ve decided I can’t accept your offer,” she said pre-emptively, feeling instantly unburdened. She thought she saw Graham’s lip curl briefly into a smile before he plastered over it with a stern soldier face instead. Riley looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“’Fraid not. I kinda like what I’ve got going but I’m not sure I wanna take it to a military scale. I haven’t done too badly keeping the nasties at bay, if I do say so myself.”

Riley stood then, walking over to a large silver filing cabinet which he pushed to one side, revealing a keypad. He keyed in a code, fishing a card from his pocket, which he swiped down the card reader at the side. What had been one of the wood panels moments ago now swung forward, revealing itself to be a door. A fluorescent beam from the ceiling shone into what appeared to be an elevator. “Are you sure I can’t offer you a tour? See what you’re missing before you make your mind up?” 

Buffy’s mind was a little blown. She knew these guys were serious but this was some James Bond shit. “Wow, that’s impressive,” she said honestly, “But I’m gonna have to pass. I have plans. No hard feelings?”

“None,” said Forrest, the handsome black soldier who was dressed in jeans and a cream sweater but was giving off distinctly soldier-y vibes despite his outfit. He walked towards the exit and Buffy felt relieved, standing as she walked towards it to be let out. Instead, she froze as rather than holding the door open, Forrest crossed his arms and stood in front of it. “Come on now, don’t be a spoil sport. We just want to take you for a little visit,” he said. Buffy thought he seemed like the sort of guy to harass his buddies into doing keg stands at frat parties. 

“No thank you,” said Buffy, “really. Very kind offer, not my kinda thing, no big deal.” She turned to Riley, irritated to see that he was standing back and watching the action unfold. “So much for ‘No Student Left Behind’,” she said, quoting the college motto.

“Buffy, I’m afraid we’re gonna need you to come with us,” said Riley.

“If this is some kinda good cop bad cop thing, a little feedback, the good cop would just let me go.” Buffy turned back to Forrest then, “I’m feeling generous so I’ll ask you nicely one last time, please move.” Forrest raised his eyebrows. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Buffy jerked a knee sharply up towards his groin, pushing him roughly to the floor as he keeled over, but before she could grab the door handle, Graham had come up behind her, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her backwards. “Oh no you don’t,” she said between teeth gritted with exertion, managing to dig an elbow into his solar plexus, winding him. His grip loosened slightly and she dropped her weight, falling through his grasp to the floor where she stood quickly, fist raised to catch his jaw, sending him flying over the desk. 

As she span towards Riley, she noticed Forrest standing up from the corner of her eye. She grabbed a small wooden prism from the desk which read PROFESSOR WALSH, throwing it in the direction of Forrest’s bald head where a corner struck him between the eyes with a satisfying thunk. He was incensed. He lunged in Buffy’s direction, mowing her down. She landed at Riley’s feet and as she looked up, she could see that he had a small-something in his hand. She guessed some sort of weapon. Forrest rolled on top of her, pinning her down as Riley jabbed the object in her direction. She remembered her backup outside and managed a loud “Xander!” before the charge of the stun gun hit her square in the chest, where Riley held it to her, maintaining contact whilst Graham jabbed her in the side of the neck with something. She felt her entire rib cage vibrating with the power of the machine, the muscles of her chest tensing involuntarily so she couldn’t move. She felt a stinging sensation creeping up her neck as Graham pushed the plunger of some unseen syringe, injecting her. The second cry didn’t make it past her lips.

***

Outside, Xander was standing by a locker, trying to look like he belonged. College students thronged the corridors noisily. None of them were paying him any mind but still he felt conspicuous. Raising an arm way too high and leaning it against a wall in an attempt at a casual pose, he smiled and nodded at a couple of girls who were passing, who hurried past looking mildly alarmed. He quickly removed his hand from its awkward position and walked off down the hall instead, in search of a vending machine. Maybe if he had a soda in his hand, he would look a little more natural. As he drifted off, he heard a series of bangs, assuming the auditorium was nearby and thinking, “Eesh, that band are terrible. I hope they’re not majoring in music.”

After a few seconds spent fumbling with the buttons, he fished out his prize, a heavily dented can of Dr Pepper. As he tugged at the ring pull, it snapped off in his hand, “Oh that’s just perfect,” he said aloud, slipping it into his green backpack and swinging it back onto his shoulders. Perhaps he could jimmy it open with a screwdriver later. As he wandered back to resume his position by the office door, he heard the unmistakeable sound of Buffy’s voice shouting his name. He bolted towards the room then, bursting through and finding himself alone in the midst of a decidedly dishevelled office. “Rats,” he said, doubling back to check the name on the door. Yep, definitely the right room. “Well, this can’t be good,” he said to nobody, scanning for a sign of where they could have gone. There was no window and no other doors. He assumed there must be some kind of hidden entrance. He noticed the name plate on the floor. At least she’d given them a hard time.

At first glance, he assumed the keypad on the wall was some sort of thermostat but after scanning the room once, he approached it now, wondering if it was something more futuristic than that. He tapped in 1234, sighing in disappointment as the small green light flashed weakly back at him. He tried a few more combinations to no avail. It was a stab in the dark. Options exhausted and not keen to be an intruder found skulking around a professor’s office, he left, asking a big burly campus guard for directions to the girls’ dorm.

***

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Willow hummed distractedly as she wrote up the notes from her morning’s classes in neat cursive. She hadn’t found it easy to focus ever since Oz left. She felt hollow and on the constant brink of a cry-athon. The best remedy she’d found so far was loud music. Maybe her and Buffy could swing by the Bronze later. She thought getting lost in a crowd might do her some good, somewhere busy with no room to think. Her mind was moments away from drifting back to the crystal-clear image of Oz and Veruca entangled on the floor, when she heard a pounding at the door coupled with a garbled, “Willow I’m coming in so please don’t be undressed,” as the door swung open.

“Gee, Xan, not much warning there,” said Willow, irritation melting away instantly as she saw his face, “What’s wrong?”

“Buffy’s gone.”

“Yeah, doofus, she was seeing you, remember? Before her thing with Riley. Don’t tell me you forgot to go and meet her.”

“He took her. I heard her shouting and when I went in, she was gone.”

Willow had had enough surprises this week to last her until the end of the semester at least. To Xander’s dismay, she promptly burst into tears.

***

When Buffy awoke, her eyes fluttered groggily. She was wrong footed for a moment as she registered the soft blanket which was covering her. Her arms and legs felt full of sand. As she remembered what had happened, she sharply twisted her shoulders, reaching her hands out to what she thought was the floor so she could push herself up. She hadn’t realised that she was laying on a cot, and let out a cry of alarm as she fell the short distance to the floor. She kicked her legs, untangling herself from the fuzzy blanket as she stood, taking in her surroundings. “Damn,” she thought, spinning on the spot as she surveyed the cell. Why did she have to be so polite anyway? If she’d just stayed at home instead of trying to be cordial by declining their stupid job offer in person, she’d be sat in the dorm right now, comforting poor Willow who really needed a friend a whole lot more than she needed another drama.

Spike had heard the sounds of the soldier boys bringing in the new arrival but hadn’t bothered to get up. He already had the lab rat; he didn’t need any more hangers-on. He had tired quickly of Tom’s chatter last night and had spent the last 12 hours alternating between lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling tiles and pacing the room angrily. His disinterest was erased an hour or so later when he heard a promisingly female shriek from nearby. He sauntered over to the window, wondering if he could get a look at the new captive, thinking it would be just his sodding luck if it were Harmony. Daft cow didn’t stand much of a chance in the big wide world without Spike for protection, he wagered, she barely had two brain cells to rub together on a good day.

Before he reached the window however, he heard a loud and oh-so-familiar voice from the opposite cell, “You have got to be kidding me.” He didn’t have to look up for confirmation, the voice alone was a dead giveaway. His arch nemesis had come to join the party. “Well, well, what a pretty pickle you seem to have got yourself into,” he drawled. This turn of events had cheered him up considerably. “Tom, come and say hello to our new neighbour. I believe you’ve met before. It’s Buffy, the vampire slayer.”


	5. New Neighbour

Giles, Xander, Willow and Anya were out of their depth in a big way. Supernatural forces conspiring against them? No problem. Dark mythical objects falling into the wrong hands? Piece of cake. Taking on an entire branch of the US Army, however, was a major reach, a fact of which they were all acutely aware. They had no idea how to take on an organisation of this magnitude, especially with their number one team member AWOL. Their whole shtick kind of fell apart without her there leading the charge. Once they had been filled in on the day’s news, they were all feeling fairly useless, sitting round Giles’ table depleting his tin of Highland shortbread. None of them much liked the idea of killing a human, even if it was a means to retrieve Buffy. 

Anya, who was reading about different ways of trapping people, piped up, “Ooh, what about this one, you lure the person out into open and then boom, they fall into a hole covered with matting. Well, it’s actually for deer but I suppose it just depends how big you dig the hole.”

“How big of a hole would we need to dig to capture a whole battalion?” asked Xander sarcastically, “And besides, there’s no use capturing them all outside of the Initiative, we have to find out where they’re hiding Buffy first.”

“You’ve got army training, Xander,” retorted Anya, “Why don’t you think of something?”

“I have the shadow of a memory of army training that I learned from a cursed Halloween costume,” Xander corrected, “I’m hardly GI Joe.”

“Yes, it’s a pity, I’m sure some inside knowledge would have come in handy,” said Giles, who in a very out-of-character move, had added a teaspoon of sugar to his afternoon tea to assist with the shock of the news of Buffy’s kidnapping.

“I might,” started Willow, raising her head from her notebook where she had been furiously scribbling ideas but shaking her head “Never mind.”

“What is it Will?” said Xander, “We’re not exactly overrun with possible solutions here.”

“It’s just, there’s a girl in my witch’s circle, Tara. She’s quite a good witch, I was wondering if she and I might be able to do some sort of spell to strengthen the memory of your army training, you know? Bring it back kinda?” She shook her head again, “But she doesn’t know about…everything. Buffy being the slayer, you know. Might not be the best idea to get her involved.” Her eyes had lit up at the mention of her friend but now went back to their usual post-Oz dark cloud.

“Willow, if you think this young lady might be able to help us, I don’t think we have the luxury of being picky about who we let in on this one,” reasoned Giles.

“OK,” said Willow, cheered, “I’ll go and see if she wants to help. All my magic books are in the dorm, so if you need us, phone us there.” She threw her fuzzy orange backpack over one shoulder and gave them a wave as she left.

***

Spike was practically bouncing off the walls of his cell. The arrival of the slayer had really put a spring in his step. The only thing that could have made his miserable situation bearable, short of cleaving open the heads of a few of the tossers who’d put him here, was the slayer being in the same deep shit as he was. She had waltzed away from her window in a huff as soon as she’d got a look at him, but Spike knew she could hear him loud and clear and had been taunting her merrily ever since. “Where’s your beloved watcher, eh? Where’s old Rupes?”, “How the mighty have fallen, young Buffy,” and, “I bet the vamps out there are having a field day without you to piss on their parade,” had been a few of his favourites. So far, she had failed to take the bait.

The situation had increased in entertainment value ten-fold when a gaggle of those camouflage wankers had turned up, stormed her cell and led her away with her hands cuffed behind her back and her legs in irons, a man at each shoulder to prevent her getting away. “So long Slayer,” he’d called happily down the hallway after her, “Don’t be too long now or I might start to worry.” This was too delicious for words. As he watched her out of sight, he realised that Tom was staring from his own window. 

“Doesn’t that just fill your heart, mate?” he said joyfully, “Watching the slayer get her come-uppance? Beautiful.”

“What’s the deal with you two?” Tom asked, and Spike thought he heard a tinge of suspicion in his voice.

“What do you mean what’s the deal? I hate her, same as you.”

“No, it’s more than that,” he said. Spike thought the lab rat was getting a little too comfortable with him. “You said it yourself earlier, when you thought she was the one who brought us here. You said, ‘I’ll take her apart. I don’t care how brilliant she is.’”

“Did not!” Spike scoffed, although it did ring a bell.

“You did so, and you seem mega pleased to have her here with us.”

“What, and you aren’t? You want your head checking, mate. What’s not to like about the killer of our kind being locked up and off the streets?”

“I want her as far away from me as possible!” Tom exclaimed, “Why is it that you want her so close?”

“All the better to kill the bitch,” Spike said simply before walking back to his bed. He didn’t much feel like chatting any more, Tom was getting on his tits. He wondered if it was indeed unusual that he was happy to see Buffy. If he really thought about it, he supposed he did prefer her to some of his other enemies. Always kept him guessing. The word “formidable” floated unbidden through his head and he shook it away. He didn’t want to think of her in such glowing terms. What did that bloody lab rat know anyway? Bloody pillock couldn’t tell his arse from his sodding elbow.

***

When the soldiers had muscled their way into her cell, Buffy hadn’t even had time to put up a fight. Talk about an unfair match, there were easily eight of them, armed to the teeth with some kind of humongous ray-gun looking things. Riley had been at the front and had looked so anxious she had decided not to try any funny business with this much manpower in the room. After all, she was quite literally backed into a corner. They’d frogmarched her past an elated Spike, who had basked in the glow of her manhandling, into another elevator and along a series of identical corridors. “So much for trying to remember an escape route,” she thought as they shoved her through the last door, not following her this time but slamming it shut with instead.

She found herself in a brightly lit rectangular room about the size of a tennis court, all white tiles and no furniture. To her left was some sort of silver pod. It looked halfway between the kind of revolving doors they had at the bank, and a futuristic shower. The metal structure had a glass window on either side and what looked like a glass door, through which was another door identical to the one Buffy had come through. Turning back the way she’d come in, she spotted a small slit of a window at around head height, underneath which were two pairs of metal portholes, one directly below it and another closer to the ground. Through them she could see a little of the corridor beyond, not that there was much to look at. 

The ceiling was high and above her she could see a huge transparent panel behind which was some sort of viewing gallery. Maggie Walsh was sat there in a lab coat, along with another, younger woman with dark brown hair twisted up into a chic bun. She had attractive if sharp features and a shade of candy pink lipstick that clashed alarmingly with the ruby red blouse she wore under her lab coat. She seemed jarringly colourful amongst the all-white everything. Buffy herself, who hadn’t dressed for the occasion, wore a high-necked, strapless black top, light blue jeans and white sneakers. As she watched, all but one of the soldiers who had brought her in filed through the door behind Maggie, taking a seat on a bench behind hers. She stood, walking to an intercom at the side. Her voice rang clearly through white speakers fixed high on the walls, “Hello Buffy, welcome to the Initiative, thank you for joining us.”

“Not like I had a choice,” Buffy said to herself, startled when Walsh responded. Clearly there was a microphone on her side as well. “The illusion of choice,” said the cold voice, “We had so hoped you would choose the easy way. You might have found yourself returning to your own lodgings each evening but alas, we press on.”

“Boy will you be sorry when I write my end of year professor review,” thought Buffy, who couldn’t help chuckling at her own internal joke. Riley, watching from the gallery, thought she was a peculiar girl. “For the duration of your stay,” continued the professor, “we want to see what you’ve got. We’ll provide the specimens and all you need to do, is show us what you do. If we deem it necessary, we will provide you with weapons via one of the hatches,” she swept an arm towards the far wall which had several white cupboard doors in it, “and you will return them to the hatch before we release you.”

Buffy was still cuffed at this point, arms behind her back and shiny stainless steel leg irons which were severely stifling her range of motion, a small length of chain between her ankles limiting her to baby steps. No wonder Spike had such a field day when he’d seen her. “If you’ll step to the side by those doors, Agent Gates will remove your cuffs.”

“And what if I don’t want to step to the side?” defied Buffy, who wasn’t feeling too co-operative.

“Believe me,” said Riley Finn, who had walked forward and taken over from the professor, “you’re gonna want your hands and legs for the next part.”

She decided she probably was better off with free use of her limbs than without them, scowling as she stomped over to the door. Forrest’s hands came through the holes at the bottom first, removing her leg irons which he whisked through the porthole and out the other side. Buffy considered grabbing them from him but she didn’t have her hands free yet and besides, she wasn’t likely to do much harm this side of a locked door. They were all watching her every move. She was trapped. She moved her arms closer to the second port hole then. She’d rather not encourage Forrest to open his mouth any more than strictly necessary. She’d heard enough of his voice for a lifetime. She flexed her wrists as she was released, shaking out the tension. “Such incredible hospitality,” she directed at the gallery above. Their faces were inscrutable, apart from the brunette scientist whose eyebrow twitched slightly in what Buffy thought might have been amusement. She wasn’t at all happy about being fodder for the entertainment of these jerks.

“Over to you Buffy,” said Riley, who then spoke as if to someone else, “Send in Hostile 15.”

Buffy looked around, wondering if there was someone else in here for whom that instruction made any sense but she was still alone. She heard the hiss of hydraulics from the direction of the pod as someone was thrust into it, the door slamming behind them. Buffy sensed instantly that it was a vampire. She instinctively scanned the room for potential weapons and found none. A tall, red haired vamp in matching grey sweatpants and sweatshirt eyed her hungrily from behind the glass. Her long hair was swept up into a high pony, bony brow protruding heavily over twinkling brown eyes and fangs drawn. She looked mad as hell and Buffy knew how she felt.

An automated female voice came calmly from the speakers then, “Test match beginning in ten, nine, eight –” as the countdown continued, Buffy wondered what the hell she was going to do beyond just keep this vamp at bay, if she didn’t have a stake anywhere in sight. She glanced up at Riley who had a slightly guilty look on his face.

“Seven, six, five --” Buffy was too proud to shout for assistance that she knew would not come. Anyway, she had far more experience with vampires than she did of army types.

“Four, three, two,” the vamp smiled menacingly from behind the glass. Buffy wasn’t sure if it was smarter to move closer towards her and catch her as she came out, but she figured she would let her counterpart lead on this one. This whole experience felt totally surreal.

“One.” The door flew open automatically and the vamp emerged slowly from the pod, the wiggle in her walk more befitting a pair of stilettos than the prison-issue white plimsols she had on. 

“My, my, aren’t you a sweet little thing,” she said, “And just in time for dinner.”

***


	6. The Lion's Den

Tara seemed a gentle soul. The first time they’d met at the campus wicca group a few weeks ago, Willow had felt instantly at ease in her company. She was strikingly beautiful with dark blonde hair and attractive but unusual features, full rosy lips and heavily lidded eyes which made her look constantly dreamy. She gave off an ethereal peacefulness, as though she were more woodland nymph than college student and Willow had known straight away that this was the person in the group she most wanted to be friends with. Tara was curled up on the couch reading a book with a knitted blanket over her knees when the knock came at the door. She was pleased to find Willow standing there, a girl who’d been on her mind since their first meeting. 

Tara was good with reading people’s energies, it was her best witchy skill, one she’d had ever since she could remember. As a child, it would unsettle her father how she would pick up on his slightest mood change. He had always been a little suspicious of her, kept her at arm’s length. Now that she’d found the wicca group, she felt a little more accepted and was embracing her ability. When she’d first met Willow, she got a startlingly clear, bright energy reading from her, but at the campus meeting yesterday, she had been concerned to note that it seemed like she was going through some troubling times. Today there was a different but equally unsettled energy. 

“Hey Tara, sorry to just show up like this but I kinda need your help with something. A big something. A big, kinda wild and unbelievable something.”

“Of course I’ll help,” said Tara, not needing the details to know that she wanted to assist her new friend with whatever it was that was throwing her aura so off-kilter, “But if it’s magic you’re looking for, I’m nowhere near as powerful of a witch as you are.” 

Willow was flattered by Tara’s assessment of her powers. She rattled off her next words at pace and Tara listened intently, “Oh, don’t worry about that, I just need an extra pair of magical hands. Are you free now? I have a bunch of books at my dorm. I can start explaining on the way.” Tara gave her a reassuring smile that instantly steadied Willow. She grabbed a loosely woven black crocheted cardigan and her keys and followed her fellow witch out of the door.

***

In the lion’s den, Buffy was experiencing a moral quandary of sorts. Where she would usually leap at a vamp’s throat given half a chance, she was struck with the strange feeling that doing so would be exactly what the Initiative wanted. She didn’t look up but she knew they were watching her every move. Walsh had been holding a clipboard and Buffy imagined a pair of stick drawings on her paper, one with fangs and one without, with little label arrows coming off them. 

“What’s wrong blondie, not up to fighting without your gang?” said the vamp, “I heard you work with a team, mighty unusual for a vampire slayer.”

Buffy didn’t like where this was going. Clearly, this vamp knew more about her than she wanted Walsh and her team to get wind of. The last thing she needed was for Giles and the gang to be swept up in all of this too. She was kinda hoping they were working on a rescue mission. Now that she had a reason to silence the redhead, it was game on. 

“No, just thought I’d give you a chance to wake up first, looks like you’re still in your PJs,” said Buffy, looking the vamp’s grey sweatsuit up and down, “Ready when you are.”

Hostile 15 was no fledge. The silky confidence in her voice told Buffy that much, “Maybe this little prison stay isn’t as bad as I thought. It’ll be worth it when I get a taste of slayer blood.” She leapt at Buffy, hand raised as if to scratch at her face with her long coffin-shaped nails. Buffy put a hand to her mouth in a fake yawn as she side-stepped the attack easily, “Oh come on,” she said, “if you’re gonna brag, at least give me something to work with.” She raised her sneaker-clad foot in a high kick knocking the vamp roughly to the floor. 

She wasn’t down for long though, recovering almost instantly and jumping up, grabbing at Buffy with her left hand and smacking her hard round the face with the right. It was Buffy’s turn to fall this time but she got up into a crouch quickly. As the vamp approached, Buffy grabbed one of her legs, pulling it hard out from underneath her and tipping her backwards where she landed hard on the back of her head. She was dazed this time, and as Buffy glanced around her looking for weapons, she noticed one of the hatch doors had opened on the far side of the room, revealing a stake within, “Now that I can work with.” She took the head-start afforded by the redhead’s injury and ran towards the hatch, feeling instantly safer with her hand gripping a lifeline. As the vamp approached her at a run, she grabbed the hatch door, swinging it most of the way closed and turning her head so she seemed unaware of the advancing demon.

Instead, as the redhead caught up with her, Buffy swung the door back open hard, catching the vamp right in the face and knocking her down to the ground once more, where she lay sprawled. Buffy crouched back down, stake in hand, and drove it through the vamp’s heart turning her instantly to dust. Usually, she would have made some pithy remark right about now but she was all too aware that she had an audience, and not one she was looking to impress. She put the stake back in the hatch reluctantly, knowing she wasn’t getting out of there without doing so, and it swung shut seemingly of its own volition.

“Well, I must say, you’ve exceeded my expectations already,” came Walsh’s voice from the gallery.

Buffy looked up to meet her gaze, unimpressed, “Yeah well, it’s kinda in the job description. Wanted: vampire slayer. Essential skills: must be good at slaying vamps.” The brunette scientist’s eyebrow twitched again, almost imperceptibly and Buffy tried to catch her eye, thinking she would make a face at her to let her know she was not a performing jester. Instead, she got the impression the scientist chose that moment to turn her head sharply away, looking at the square white clock on the wall. Buffy couldn’t help but notice that Riley looked a little impressed. He was shaking his head slightly in disbelief while a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Walsh ignored Buffy’s witticism and said, “If you would return to the door, Agent Gates will re-apply your shackles.”

“Gee, thanks. You know, hate to be the one to say it, but doesn’t it seem slightly inhumane keeping me caged up and bringing me out here to do your dirty work for your viewing pleasure?”

Walsh, the brunette scientist and the army men stood up at that, leaving the viewing gallery in single file. Apparently, playtime was over. “OK, rude much?” said Buffy, noticing Forrest’s face appearing at the slim window and walking over to him. He re-applied the handcuffs and leg irons in silence, but as she went to walk towards the door to be let out, he barked at her in admonition, “Hostile 18, come back here and stand with your back facing towards me.”

“Hostile 18? The name’s Buffy.”

“All supernatural beings in our custody are assigned a number on entry.”

“Sure, because why treat me with an ounce of dignity,” she said, returning sulkily to the holes and turning her back, expecting Forrest to tighten her handcuffs further. Instead, she stifled a gasp of surprise as a pair of hands came through each set of portholes, one grabbing the chain between her ankles and the other taking her by the handcuffs, pulling her sharply back towards the wall and throwing her off balance. Agent Gates had company. “Hey, what’s that for?” said Buffy, the reply coming in the form of the remaining six agents from the gallery, who threw the door open and stomped to her side, each now in possession of their big shiny ray-gun looking things again.

Two of them grabbed her, one by each arm and the others assumed formation in front and behind, hemming her in as the floating hands behind her relinquished their grip. “Ever heard of a little thing called subtlety?” she yelled over the sounds of their synchronised boot-stomps as they marched her back to her cell.

Spike had leapt to his feet and eagerly waited at the window at the first sign of Buffy’s return, a little put out to see that apart from a slightly-less-perfect ponytail, she looked very much unscathed. “Welcome back Slayer,” he drawled, “they finally given you the lobotomy you were so clearly in need of?” Buffy was pissed off. In that moment, she hated the soldiers far more than she hated Spike. She knew she had no chance of escape, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t bruise their egos a little. She waited until one of them went to key in the code before throwing herself violently forwards to the ground. Sure enough, the soldiers either side of her who had loosened their grasp in anticipation of the opening door fell with her to the ground. Buffy, whose arms were behind her back, fell hardest, her face hitting the tiled ground. The hot pain which seared through her cheekbone was well worth the satisfaction of tumbling her opponents. She lifted her shackled feet and kicked out behind her, managing to take out another of the army men. 

The result was a huge pile on, where the remaining soldiers dove on top of her, pulling her up roughly and throwing her to the floor of her cell before slamming the door behind her. As she heard them stamping off down the corridor, she shouted from the floor, “Hey, what about my handcuffs?” but no response came. In the heat of the moment, she’d lost sight of the fact she needed their help freeing her limbs. Damn. She struggled to her feet to see Spike grinning through his cell window. “I’ve gotta say Slayer, I didn’t think you had it in you but that was bloody funny.”

Buffy felt strangely flattered and a, “thanks” and a smile escaped her before she remembered it was Spike she was talking to. Spike the evil vampire. Spike who she hated. She flushed with irritation, turning her back and taking tiny shackled steps away from the window. Spike, who had never expected to be smiled at by Buffy, felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “No need to get all mardy slayer. I said you were funny, I didn’t say I wouldn’t drain you dry given half a bleedin’ chance.” Both slayer and vampire sat on the edges of their beds, seething. 

After a few minutes, Agent Miller came to the hatch, awkwardly removing her handcuffs through the bars but leaving the shackles round her ankles. He pushed a brown bag through the gap in the door as he left with a single word, “Food.”

“Oh boy,” Buffy called after him, “lucky me. I’ve gotta say Graham, five-star service.”

He ignored her as she unrolled the top of the bag, revealing a bottle of water and a stale cheese sandwich. “Mmm, appetising.” She said to herself, still at the door. Spike’s face appeared at the window again, “Wouldn’t eat that if I were you, they put drugs in ours.”

“And why would you wanna help me?” said Buffy suspiciously, thinking this was probably a prank to make her go hungry. Spike could have kicked himself. Why on earth did he want to help her? He quickly came up with a plausible excuse, and as it left his mouth, he realised it just so happened to make perfect sense, “Because Slayer, like it or not, you and I are stuck together and although I’m sure it pains you as much as it does me to admit it, we’ve got more chance of escaping this sodding mouse trap if we join forces.” Knowing Tom was probably eavesdropping, he added a, “And if you’re listening lab rat, do yourself a favour and butt out.”

“Huh? Lab rat?” said Buffy, puzzled.

“Your next-door neighbour. I think his tiny little brain might go pop if he thinks for too long about the little scheme I’m proposing.” 

Buffy thought hers might, too. She supposed it wouldn’t be the first time her and Spike had joined forces to defeat a greater evil, however, and it wasn’t like she had a glittering alternative waiting in the wings. She swallowed her pride painfully, “You’re on.”

***


	7. Bigger Fish

The next morning, Buffy was called to the door by Riley and was taken aback by him shoving a packet of M&Ms through the hatch, “Eat them quickly. They’re not drugged, you can check, the packet’s sealed.” She had slept terribly on the hard bed. The buzzing of the neon strips from the corridor paired with the discomfort of the leg irons which had been left on overnight meant she was feeling extra grouchy, even by the standards of her current predicament.

“And why should I trust you?”

“Look, we tried to do this the easy way. I’m sorry it came to this, really I am, but I’ll try and bring you food at least while you’re in here. This isn’t forever.” Buffy thought that sounded like bullshit. Could she really bank on the Initiative releasing her into the wild and just asking her nicely not to sing like a canary the moment she was free? She thought how bizarre it was that her psych teacher’s TA was smuggling sugary snacks through the bars of her prison cell. Thinking it was probably not the best idea to tell him what she thought of him, she settled for a request, “Got anything with actual ingredients in it?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said and grinned at her as though it were a perfectly normal exchange. She tried to hide the revulsion on her face, after all, she really was hungry and it was smarter not to bite the hand that fed you, she supposed. Riley flinched at the sound of footsteps in the distance, snapping into a more standard issue army voice, “Someone will come to get you for the next fight in an hour, Hostile 18.” And added in a whisper, “Hide the wrapper under the mattress when you’re done, I’ll come back for it later and I’ll try and bring you something else to eat, I promise. Just try not to get into any trouble or it’ll be harder for me to slip away to visit.” He hurried away. Buffy tore open the packet and started to eat as Spike came to his window, “Hostile 18? He’s having a laugh ain’t he? You’re about as bleedin’ hostile as a pair of socks. Can’t believe they’ve lumped me into a category with you!”

Buffy, who was slightly cheerier following the arrival of sustenance, was appreciating Spike’s little rant as she scooped another handful of M&Ms into her mouth. “Why, what number are you?” she asked with her mouth full.

“17,” said Spike, “Oi Tom, what number are you mate?”

“16,” said Tom. Buffy thought he sounded a little familiar, which Spike confirmed in his next breath.

“You and Tom have already met Slayer, apparently you offed his whole gang. Not very friendly of you!” Buffy wondered if Spike was ever serious about anything other than killing her.

“I take it your gang are vampires?” said Buffy, aiming her words in the direction of Tom’s cell.

“Yeah,” came Tom’s gentle voice, “Sunday’s guys.”

“She was that blonde girl with the stupid hair?”

“I thought she looked cool,” said Tom.

“You would,” thought Spike, who didn’t know who Sunday was but had already decided she sounded daft from her name.

“Oh yeah,” said Buffy brightly to Spike, “I did off his gang. How about that.”

Spike chuckled at the hurt look on Tom’s face, “It’s not personal, Lab Rat, it’s business ain’t it. You’d kill her, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I did try to kill her.”

“Well, there you go. You’d kill her and she’d kill you. No use getting upset about it, it’s the natural order. Besides,” he looked at Buffy before delivering his next line with a wink that caught her fully off guard, “Livens things up a bit.”

Tom didn’t reply to this part and Buffy took it as her cue to go and finish her M&Ms in peace. “Want one?” she said to Spike before walking away, thinking it was only polite since they were working together. Spike opened his mouth, inviting her to throw one in and she accepted the challenge. She had spectacular aim. After all, she’d managed to stake Sunday through the heart with a backhanded throw not one week ago. She wasn’t as surprised as he was when a green M&M landed right in his mouth. Spike laughed as he crunched into the candy. He didn’t remember the slayer being this fun. He briefly wondered if they would have been friends if she were a vamp when they met but it was a step of mental gymnastics too far so instead, he settled for saying, “What’s the story with you and Captain Curtains?”

“Who, Riley? He’s my psych teacher’s TA. And if that wasn’t mondo bizarro enough, my psych teacher also happens to work here.”

“Do these people have nothing better to do with their lives? Why have they got so many jobs?” said Spike in disgust. As a rule, he worked as little as possible for maximum reward and he held workaholics in the lowest regard.

“Oh yeah,” said Buffy, who hadn’t thought how the professor was managing to lead a double life, “Talk about burning the candle at both ends.”

“You can talk,” said Spike, “You’re a vampire slayer and a student.”

“Well sure, but slaying really doesn’t pay as much as you might think. Nothing, in fact.”

“Doesn’t your watcher get a salary from the Council?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, surprised Spike knew so much.

“What and he doesn’t split the cheque with you? What a con!”

Buffy had never thought of it like that. “Remind me to join the slayers’ union when we get out of here,” she joked, noting Spike’s smile with mild discomfort. She told herself it was a means to an end. A convenient alliance. She prickled uncomfortably at the uninvited memory of her heavily Spike-filled dream from earlier in the week. Spike, with his uncanny ability to read a room, could tell that the slayer was confused by their friendly chit chat so he changed tack, “If Colonel Cannon-Fodder’s your TA, why’s he bringing you sweeties?”

“Maybe he’s being friendly,” said Buffy with a shrug.

“He fancies you!” Spike said gleefully as he joined the dots in his head, “Oh, this is too sodding perfect.”

“He does not!” said Buffy, thinking that it actually made a lot of sense if he did. She probably would have been flattered in different circumstances, Riley was definitely handsome, but somehow being kidnapped and held against your will by a guy really took the sheen off things.

“He bloody does and you’re not to do anything that changes his mind, you hear me? The lovesick puppy might be our ticket out of here.”

“Ew gross, I’m not going to flirt with the guy who brought me here, even if it does help us escape.”

“Who’s asking you to flirt? I just meant try not to send him flying next time you pull a fast one on the other Action Men. Not that I didn’t find that very, very entertaining but let’s think about the bigger picture, yeah? Even if you knock them out, how likely are you to find your way out of this place with no help? It’s Fort bloody Knox. If we play our cards right, we could be out in the open murdering each other with our bare hands this time tomorrow.”

Both of them smiled dreamily at the thought, each catching the other’s expression and protesting in unison, “Hey!”

“Will you two get a room already?” said Tom who was clearly hurt at being told off by Spike earlier.

Spike and Buffy pulled faces at each other, “Sheesh, what’s his problem?” Buffy asked.

“Must be his time of the month,” said Spike in a stage whisper. Tom’s comment made them both feel a little awkward and they veered away from their doors to mind their own business for a bit.

***

At Giles’, Tara and Willow were on a mission. They hadn’t had much luck with the spell for Xander yet, but Giles was on the case, sourcing some ingredients and a newer edition of a book Willow had. It had been Xander’s bright idea to go to the college and try and follow one of the Initiative to see where they went, but they thought it best to leave him behind in case they needed him to play toy soldier later. It wouldn’t be much use if Xander got himself seen too early. 

The witches had made some temporary magical and non-magical alterations to their appearances. Willow was now wearing a blonde wig with a rather large magically enlarged nose and Tara had a black wig and magically grown black bushy eyebrows. They had fallen about laughing at the sight of each other. The spells were more the sort of thing young witches would use to make each other laugh than precise, ancient magic, and although they were definitely passable for use as disguises in a college hallway, they were undeniably comical. Anya and Giles had been helping them with their look, the former letting them rifle through a big bag of clothes she’d brought. Giles seemed to approve of Tara, a nice polite young woman who called him “Mr Giles.” 

Willow was wearing a slim fitting black mini dress that made her feel totally uncomfortable but not at all herself. “It’s perfect!” she’d announced, tugging down the hem as she fidgeted uneasily. She’d added a pair of sunglasses for good measure, feeling kinda like a spy from an action movie. Tara was wearing a slinky pink jumper of Anya’s over her own jeans. The fit was a little snug but fine. Willow thought she still looked just as cute with the overgrown brows and dye job. They looked like a pair of art students.

They had burst into fresh peals of laughter when Xander, coming back from a coffee and doughnut run, had walked in and shot a polite “Good morning” to Will and Tara, thinking they were Giles’ visitors, before double taking, eyes nearly falling out of his head as he realised who they were. “Whoa, freaky,” he said. Giles had offered to drive them to campus but the giggling pair had said they preferred to walk, heading out arm in arm. Xander felt a little jealous of Willow’s new friend but he decided to be a grown up about it and said, “I’m glad Will’s found a nice buddy to take her mind off the Oz situation,” to prove just how OK with it he was.

***

A little while later, Buffy was taken out of her cell in cuffs. She didn’t recognise any of the soldiers’ faces and wondered if there had been a shift change. Her and Spike had agreed not to make a plan until she’d had another chance to look round for clues, and she kept her eyes peeled for any small detail that might assist with their escape, disappointed to find the walls just as bare and uninteresting as they had been the first time round.

Spike, having watched her go, spotted a pair of soldiers walking up the hallway, this time stopping at Tom’s cell. “Tom mate, they’ve come to get you! Looks like you might get your chance to kill the slayer after all,” he said cruelly, noting with a grin the skeleton crew that had been deemed appropriate to fetch his fellow vamp. Tom didn’t have any parting words for Spike, who smirked to himself in acknowledgement of a job well done. He was an expert at winding people up. Demons too, for that matter. He took great pleasure in approaching serious situations with sarcasm. He’d been quite sombre once upon a time, writing love poems for a woman that would rather he never existed, but somewhere down the years, he’d stopped taking everything so seriously. The world was his playground. As he waited for the slayer’s return, he had a lightbulb moment.

***

“Oi Buff, what number was the first one you fought?” asked Spike as Buffy was marched back to her cell less than an hour later.

“15, why?” asked Buffy, thinking how easily Spike had slipped into speaking to her as a friend. She thought how they had been much more than friends in her dream, but swatted the thought from her brain like a mosquito, afraid that Spike would read it on her face.

“And old Tom was 16, right?” Spike continued.

“Yep. ‘Was’ being the operative word.” Spike had not been expecting the lab rat to survive his encounter with Buffy. He waited until the army guys had relieved her of her cuffs and trudged off before pressing on. “Bloody military types! I knew it. Always following protocol.”

“Am I missing something?”

“Always.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny.”

“First you had 15, then 16, who do you think’s gonna be next?”

“Oh,” she said.

“’Oh’ is right.”

“What did they do with Hostiles one through 14?”

“Who gives a flying toss about that?” said Spike, “If me and you are scheduled in for fisticuffs tomorrow, we have bigger fish to free.”


	8. A Defector Calls

Willow and Tara’s trip to campus was a big bust. The girls had looked everywhere for Riley, including peeking through the window of the lecture Willow was supposed to be in, to check if he was TA’ing with Walsh. This had made Willow so nervous she wanted to vomit, more from her innate wish to be a perfect student than the espionage, although the disguise had begun to feel rather futile too. She felt Walsh was too shrewd to be fooled by a magically enlarged nose and a dye job. Tara had grabbed her hand in a tender gesture of reassurance but for some reason this had ignited even more butterflies in her tummy. 

They followed Walsh after the class until she disappeared into her office. After hanging around trying to look inconspicuous for half an hour, Tara had volunteered to go and knock on the door pretending to be a potential transfer student to Walsh’s seminar group. Willow was feeling growing fondness for her new friend, who had given up the best part of a day already in the quest to help a girl she’d known for less than a fortnight. There had been no reply from Professor Walsh’s office and Tara had opened the door gingerly, finding it disappointingly empty.

When they had returned, confused and downtrodden, to Giles’ place, which was now being used as Buffy-finding HQ, they reversed their makeover spells and cast off their wigs before telling the others their news. “Well, at least that confirms Xander’s theory about the thermostat being some sort of panel for an access code. I must say, all this high-tech subterfuge does seem a tad more futuristic than our usual territory. Is there another storey in the building?”

“N-no Mr Giles,” said Tara, “It’s just the one level, I think.”

“So, there’s no reason to believe whatever passageway is hidden there leads to the roof. Perhaps there’s a hidden suite of offices in the building, or of course there could be access to a basement of some sort, a doorway leading to a ladder.”

“I can see if one of the guys at work has access to the blue prints,” said Xander, “We did some work on the cafeteria a few weeks back and we usually keep records for a few years.”

“Ah, fantastic,” said Giles, the slightest glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. This dwindled quickly as he said, “Still, we aren’t much closer to figuring out how we’re going to take down a bloody great army.”

Anya gasped, “Giles! You swore!”

Giles smiled bashfully, “Yes, I suppose I did. Even ex-librarians are taken by the urge to use foul language every now and again.” Anya and Xander shook their heads at each other in mock disappointment and Giles rolled his eyes.

“Well, since we can’t fight fire with fire on account of not having an entire army or a big huge basement full of guns, maybe we’ll just have to trick them, you know, Trojan Horse style.” said Willow.

“I don’t think Riley and the boys are likely to fall for a big wooden horse full of Scoobies,” said Xander, noticing the confusion on Tara’s face and adding, “That’s us, the Scooby gang… you know, solving supernatural mysteries? Except without the dog, or the Mystery Machine.” He lost confidence in this description, suddenly feeling very exposed and nerdy, but he rallied as Tara smiled brightly and announced, “I like it.” He was pleased he’d been so generous letting Willow hang out with this new girl, he was starting to like her.

“Well, you’ve been helping us, I guess that makes you an honorary Scooby,” he said generously.

“Dibs on Scrappy-Doo,” said Tara, flushed with happiness at being brought into the fold.

“Shaggy,” said Xander.

“Velma,” chimed in Willow.

“Daphne,” said Anya, “obviously.”

The group turned expectantly to Giles who said, “I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you are expecting me to say. As long as you’re all enjoying yourselves. I hope you don’t mind if I turn the conversation back to the ever-so-slightly more pressing issue of rescuing Buffy from the clutches of a disreputable government faction.”

“Spoilsport,” said Anya sarcastically. Xander flashed her an approving smile.

“Willow, you mentioned something about a Trojan Horse? I think you’re right.”

“Have you guys been drinking? I’m tellin’ you man, I am not getting roped into building a giant donkey on wheels just so the US Army can flatten it like a gigantic pinata.”

“No,” said Giles, exasperation creeping into his voice, “I think what Willow was referring to was the fact that since we are exponentially outnumbered by the army, we will have to use our wits instead.” When Xander blinked at him, waiting for an explanation, he provided a simplified, “Trick them.”

“Ohhh, sure. Trick them. Real specific. Let’s get right on that.”

“Hey,” said Anya, “When did you become such a negative Nick?”

“Negative Ni --” Xander gasped dramatically. “I’m no negative Nick!” He changed his tone to a more enthusiastic one before repeating, “Trick them! Great idea, let’s get right on that! Better?”

Giles tutted and explained, “You know, the Trojans weren’t the only army that ever deceived the enemy. At the Battle of Normandy, the British used inflatable tanks to trick the Germans into thinking they had twice the fire power. And before you protest, no, I am not suggesting we create an inflatable army. The fondness for guns you Americans have would certainly render that a disaster.” Xander laughed, emphatically miming the path of a deflated balloon-soldier with two hands, standing up so he could continue its flight path in a lap round the couch. He was really getting into it until he realised the others were watching stony-faced. “You get the picture,” he said sheepishly, sitting back down next to Anya, who gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Quite.” said Giles.

Tara came to the rescue, “So, Mr Giles, any luck with the book we ordered, to help Xander with his military know-how?” After hearing the story of the wild Halloween outing that had resulted in Xander’s acquisition of a very specific set of military skills, she had felt more confident that she could help Willow when the time came. After all, her speciality was energies and auras, and memory wasn’t too great of a leap from there. The copy Willow and Tara had was in poor condition and some of the lettering had worn away, so Giles had sent away for a clearer copy from a friend of his who owned a magical book repository.

“Yes, the concierge has it, if you show her my building key she should hand it over.” He pulled a spare key from a hook by the door and handed it to Willow. “Xander, why don’t you take Anya to the construction site and see if you can make any progress with those blue prints. I’ll see you all in a couple of hours.”

Giles, happy to have found an excuse to grab a moment’s peace, saw the gang out, closing the door with a deep sigh of relief and turning towards the kitchen and the kettle. A large pot of tea was in order. He hadn’t made it but two steps in the direction of his beloved Lady Grey, however, when there came a knock. “For heaven’s sake,” he thought to himself as he swivelled on his heels, “They’d lose their heads if they weren’t screwed on. It’s a wonder any of them manage to get anything done.” However, he was startled to find upon opening it that it wasn’t one of his young people stood at the threshold, but rather a tall and regal looking brunette.

He instinctively stood a little taller, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Hello, can I help you?” he said kindly. The stranger wore a pea green cashmere jumper which toned beautifully with her straight brown hair which was a little longer than shoulder-length. It looked professionally blow dried, with a slight bouncy wave to it. She had an attractive, chiselled jaw line and looked like she had walked off the set of a catalogue photoshoot. Giles could hardly believe his eyes. 

“You don’t know me, but I need to talk to you. It’s about Buffy, and it would really be safer for both of us if you let me in,” she said firmly but gently, and Giles was delighted and surprised to hear that she spoke with a cut-glass English accent. “If it isn’t too big of an imposition.” Giles sized her up. He wasn’t fool enough to think that a woman couldn’t take him in a fight if she were so inclined, but instinct told him it would be alright. He was strangely reminded of Jenny, his dearly departed ex-girlfriend, a likeness which both put him at ease and set him on edge in the same dizzying moment. He gestured to the living room with a welcoming arm, stepping aside to let her in and closing the door quickly behind her.

“I was just about to make myself a pot of tea actually, can I interest you in a cup?”

“Thank you, I don’t suppose you have any Lady Grey?”

Giles, nodding in satisfaction as if her taste in tea bags proved that letting her in had been a sound judgement, strode over to the kettle and flicked it on.

One cup of tea later, his and his new associate, whose name he now knew to be Kate, hurried to his car, taking care to ensure they weren’t seen together, and drove straight to Tara’s house, which had been nominated the meeting point for the afternoon. This had been Tara’s suggestion, who was getting the impression Giles was overwhelmed by the ongoing home invasion. She was right, and Giles was grateful to have a change of scenery.

***

Spike and Buffy had spent the afternoon throwing around ideas for tomorrow’s escape attempt. Neither of them was big on planning, Buffy usually leaving that to the more bookish ones in the group, and Spike preferring to do things spur of the moment, but they thought it best to have a plan B at least, in case nothing came to them in the cold light of the arena. Guards patrolled the corridor a few times every hour and to ensure they didn’t become suspicious of their scheming, Spike had taken to throwing insults at Buffy whenever they walked by, an activity in which he was taking great delight. He’d started with the usual subjects, “I can’t wait to rip your silly blonde head off your shoulders,” and, “Might put your head on a pike outside my house, would make a lovely decoration.” They had become increasingly ridiculous to Buffy’s reluctant amusement, culminating in, “You couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions on the heel,” which had caught Buffy so off guard she’d had to run to hide her face in the mattress to stifle her giggles.

As the guard marched away, Spike, who was secretly flattered that he’d got a reaction out of her, said, “Oi, you’re not supposed to laugh.”

“What can I say, I wasn’t expecting you to be funny.”

“You know what Slayer, you once threw me under a church organ, but your words really hurt,” he clutched two hands theatrically to his chest. She smiled mischievously at that, and suddenly his all-consuming desire to get his hands on her took on a far less murderous subtext. 

Buffy had told Spike all about the fighting room, the viewing gallery, the hatches and every other detail she could think of. Her battle with Tom had gone down much like the one with the ginger vamp, if slightly faster. This time, they had provided the stake before he had entered, and the poor guy hadn’t stood a chance. It was so easy to kill him, she might’ve felt bad, but any crony of Sunday’s was an enemy of hers and finishing this one off felt like knocking down the last pin at the bowling alley.

Riley showed up at some point with a box of strawberry Pop Tarts, a banana and a bottle of water for Buffy, taking away the M&M wrapper from that morning. Buffy, thinking it would be handy if Spike could up his strength before their escape mission, said something about making sure Spike didn’t snitch, and Riley retreated hastily, smuggling back a couple of clean bags of blood which he pushed through his door with a stern warning to, “Keep it to yourself.”

“Mum’s the word,” Spike had said in faux obedience, taking the blood to the far side of his cell to drink it before Riley changed his mind, not much caring by this point whether it was drugged or not. He was an exceptional hunter and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to go without.

“Nice fight you had with Hostile 16 earlier,” Riley said to Buffy, “You really know how to handle yourself.” Buffy thought Spike was right, he definitely had a crush on her. She thought it was totally gross. “What can I say, I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said vaguely, forcing a smile. She would have been annoyed that she was having to be polite to him if it weren’t for her peroxide blonde neighbour jumping in with a few well-chosen put downs.

“Oi, Tin Soldier, I thought old Tom was pathetic. Do you really have to lock a girl up to get her attention?” Riley ignored him so he continued, “You know if you want something to love and feed and keep in a cage, a hamster would be a far less annoying alternative to the slayer here. Much cuter, too and not half as bleedin’ insolent.”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” said Riley to Buffy awkwardly.

“Oh, pull the other one Stretch Armstrong.” Buffy had to hide a giggle at Spike’s choice of nickname. “You and I both know what’s going on here. Takes a lovesick puppy to know one and believe me I’ve got that T shirt. Not that I’ve ever been so sodding desperate I’ve had to imprison a bird, mind you. Those are dizzying new heights of pathetic-ness you've reached, if I do say so myself. I’d be impressed if I weren’t so bleeding sickened.”

“That’s enough Hostile, one more peep out of you and I’m fetching the taser.”

“Alright Shirty. No need to piss in my pocket and tell me it’s raining,” said Spike, “You bloody put me here. Not my fault I’m bored out of my sodding mind.”

The teasing had done the trick and Riley made his excuses and left not long after, handing Buffy a small scrap of paper through the bars as he did so.

“Oh Slayer, got yourself a love letter? Go on, give us a laugh, read it to the class.”

Buffy, who was feeling strangely jovial towards Spike since their planning session, cleared her throat dramatically as she unfolded it, reading aloud, “Buffy, I’m sorry it came to this. I promise, you will get out of here eventually. Keep your chin up. R.”

The pair were mirror images, both curling their lips in disgust. “Hand me a bucket, I think I’m gonna spew,” said Spike, “’Keep your chin up’? Bit rich coming from him ain’t it. I thought he was the one that sodding captured you in the first place.”

“I’m cursed,” said Buffy, “I swear. All the guys that like me turn out evil.”

“Oh yeah,” said Spike, “I forgot you and Angel had an ill-fated love affair.”

“You can say that again,” she said, “Nothing makes you feel like a bad girlfriend quite like ripping your boyfriend’s soul out.”

“It’s not like you’d wanna go out with a normal bloke anyway,” reasoned Spike.

“How do you know?” said Buffy.

“Because, a woman like you could never be satisfied with someone ordinary.”

“Hey Spike, that sounded suspiciously like a compliment,” said Buffy, grinning at his slip up. To her surprise however, Spike fixed her with a direct stare before telling her, “I said what I said.” He raised an eyebrow which seemed to be attached mysteriously by a fishing line to her stomach, which flipped over. As he turned to walk back to his bed, he threw her an infuriating, “Don’t overthink it,” which raised more questions than it answered. “Don’t overthink what?” she thought and then wondered if it were true that she could never be satisfied with someone ordinary. She found her brain all a-flurry, racing thoughts and some thoroughly disturbing images of a smiling Spike, looking up at her from between her legs in clear blue water, while she told him she loved him.

Sitting and tearing into his second blood bag, Spike’s mind was also in overdrive at the unexpectedly flirtatious exchange that he had just precipitated. It wasn’t unusual for Spike to take himself by surprise with his own actions, it was par for the course when you were a do-er and not a thinker, after all, but this one really had him stumped. He thought about Tom’s suspicions, thinking how glad he was that the silly bugger had been killed before he could open his big trap any further. Killed by Buffy. Buffy, who he had accidentally referred to as brilliant. Who had facilitated the arrival of the very blood he was currently drinking. Bloody difficult woman, what had she done that for? 

***


	9. Unholy Alliance

As Tara held the door open to let Giles and Kate into her living room, a relieved-looking Anya made a beeline for him, “Oh thank God you’re here, Xander’s been explaining the correct way to dismantle an M-16 for the last twenty minutes.” She didn’t seem to have noticed Kate until she’d finished. “Oh, hello!” She smiled broadly at the stranger. “Giles, you didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend. She’s very good looking.” She nodded at Giles approvingly.

Giles stumbled his way through the first few words of his sentence, “Oh, no, we’re not –” before Kate came to his rescue, “Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Kate, I work for the Initiative.” At these words, Willow, who had been cornered by a very enthusiastic Xander telling her about the layout of his most recent barracks, jumped up from the table in alarm, Xander clocking on a moment too late that something was happening and jumping up to join them, adopting a rather comical fists-up stance in readiness to fight. Not that he’d heard Kate’s introduction, he just felt ever ready for battle since the girls’ successful spell.

“It’s all right,” said Giles who had now recovered from his embarrassment, “We know each other.”

It transpired that Kate was the daughter of one of Giles’ old friends, and had heard through the grapevine about the Watchers Council and in due course, Buffy. Of course, in her line of work as a supernatural scientist, she was already privy to information about the supernatural world so it was no great coincidence that she’d been let in on the details of what was usually such a secretive organisation. Once upon a time, she had told Giles, the Council and the Initiative had sought to join forces, eventually parting ways over a difference of opinion. Giles, who had never been the greatest champion of his former employer, thought it spoke volumes if even the Council wouldn’t touch the Initiative with a barge pole. 

Kate had worked originally as a freelancer, researching demons for the advancement of science from a more anthropological perspective, observing but never meddling. There had been one or two dicey situations where she’d had to roll up her sleeves but luckily, she was neither squeamish nor afraid to get her hands dirty. She had explained to Giles how she’d recently been offered an interview with the Initiative, one where the details of the role had been few and far between. Giles supposed that state secrets were sensitive by nature and that such precautions would not have seemed unreasonable. 

Kate, however, had been ready to hand in her notice almost immediately had she taken the role. The science she was expected to do here was more of the Dr Frankenstein variety, performing experiments on the demons of the Hellmouth who had been procured by the agents. She had found the whole thing rather vulgar, right down to the frat boy soldiers who did the grunt work. Much like a wildlife documentarian, Kate had no interest in harming a demon who didn’t directly intend her harm itself, much preferring to watch and learn. She had delayed the handing in of her notice, however, when she had heard murmurings about the slayer and her having been propositioned to work for them.

The last few days had unfolded before her increasingly horrified eyes and she had felt sure that remaining at the Initiative was the only way she could offer any help. She had set to work finding out where Rupert lived and gone to him to tell the whole sorry saga. And now, surrounded by the young slayer’s friends, who seemed to be a quite delightful group, she felt vindicated in her choice of action. A little more planning and the game was truly on.

***

Harmony had decided enough was enough. Spike had treated her like dirt for the last time. Probably. She had decided it was only fair she got his crypt in the divorce – well, the split – well, when he had disappeared. She figured it was unlikely he was dead. He may have been a total let down where boyfriends were concerned but he was unmatched in fighting skills. If you didn’t count the slayer, that was. Super sexy too. She had made up the remainder of the details in her head, assuming he had found another woman, some horrible old hag, and run off to Mexico with her. She sighed, pushing a thumb tack into a large tree root which grew down through the bedroom, standing back to admire the poster of Destiny’s Child. 

At least she had literally forever to find a new boyfriend, she thought, kicking off baby blue marabou slippers and flopping down onto the bed. “That was quick,” she said to herself perkily at the sound of a knock at the door. She climbed the cold ladder barefoot, running her tongue over her teeth to check for lipstick before she opened the door, wondering if her new life awaited.

“Ugh, gross. Why are you here?” she said to the visitors, who pushed past her unceremoniously and sat on the couch. “What are you doing? I could kill you,” she said, unconvincingly. She didn’t have the energy to try and sound properly scary. She’d been all alone for what felt like weeks in this crypt and she was bored with a capital B.

“You won’t though, will you,” Anya pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Probably doesn’t wanna break a nail,” said Xander.

“And anyway,” said Anya, “We’re here to help you.”

“What makes you think I need help from a pair of losers that flunked out of college?”

“OK, first of all, she’s an ex-vengeance demon, she’s literally hundreds of years old. She didn’t flunk out of anything, she’s retired from a highly successful career.” Anya nodded smugly and Xander continued, “And I’m in the army now. Well, I was. Well, I kinda am. Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything,” said Harmony. She seemed repelled to be in the company of two losers such as these, not to mention their non-vampire status.

“I was talking to myself,” Xander explained, “I was getting off track. The point is, we know where your sweetheart is.” Harmony’s eyes lit up.

“Leo Di Caprio?” Xander’s mouth fell open in amazement at the sheer stupidity of this statement. “OK, we know where your other sweetheart is. Spike.”

“You found Blondie Bear?” Harmony said excitedly, then frowned, “Where is he?”

“He’s been taken. Kidnapped by the army.”

“Wait, I thought you said you were in the army. Did you kidnap him?”

“No. Although I’m amazed that you were actually listening that well. Anyway, I didn’t kidnap him. I was in a different army…sorta. They have Buffy too. It’s a long story, but we’ve got a plan.”

“Buffy’s with him? If that hussy lays a finger on his precious blonde head –”

“OK Harmony, as moving as this little speech would no doubt be… if I didn’t actually know you or Spike, we’re getting off topic again. I hate to say it but our plan kinda involves you.”

“And what makes you think I wanna help you losers with anything?”

“We really gotta work on your memory. You want Spike back.” This interaction was testing Xander’s patience. He was really getting the urge to shoot things ever since his army training had been brought back to the fore. Anya was hoping he might finally start making his own bed. All thoughts of hating Spike had flown from Harmony’s brain like so many pieces of fluff blown by a slight breeze, “Ugh OK but it had better be easy,” she said.

“I can already tell this is going to be such fun!” said Xander to Anya with a forced smile.

***

It was evening and Riley had taken pity on Buffy and brought her a bar of off-brand soap so she could have a wash. He gave her a standard issue white towel with “PROPERTY OF THE US ARMY” embroidered on it and a set of grey sweats identical to those worn by the redhead, so she could change. If Buffy hadn’t watched them turn to dust, she might have worried they were the same ones. She was feeling somewhat refreshed from a wash in the wink with an off-brand bar of soap, with towel-dried hair unbrushed around her shoulders. She had used the empty bottle of water from earlier to pour water over her hair, which she had washed grudgingly with the soap, getting the floor soaked in the process. Partially towelled dry, it now hung knottily around her shoulders. She was not looking forward to dragging a comb through this bird’s nest whenever she got out of here. 

“You must’ve been smelling especially ripe if lover boy came all the way over here just to give you a wash,” teased Spike, when Riley had come to retrieve the towel. Riley shot him a warning look and he shook his head in response, “Was that supposed to intimidate me, Curtains? You don’t frighten me, you daft prick. Do you know what I’d call you anywhere but this dump? Dinner.”

Buffy bit her lip so as not to smile, shuffling further into her cell. The leg irons were really starting to get on her last nerve. She had no desire to piss Riley off now. She had transformed into the model of good behaviour. He smiled at her. He clearly thought it had been his good influence that had helped her to fall into line. After retrieving the towel, he dipped a hand into the deep pocket of his camo pants, producing a bar of chocolate and a Gatorade before pulling a blood bag out of the other and pushing it through the bars of Spike’s cell.

Spike gawped at him. “Oh, Action Man, you shouldn’t have! Here was me thinking you had the hots for the slayer but it was me you were after all along. I’m flattered, truly but you’re not really my type.” Riley was still smiling and for one second, Spike wondered if Captain Cardboard had a sense of humour after all. He was quickly relieved of this ridiculous notion when the soldier turned to him and said, “You’d better savour it. You’re next to fight the slayer. Tomorrow. Enjoy your last meal.” Spike pasted a pained expression onto his face then, which Riley seemed to buy but which made Buffy, who was watching over his shoulder, shake her head. “What a ham.” She thought. 

“You’re right,” said Spike mournfully, laying it on thick, “I don’t suppose, Sir, if this is to be my very last meal, that I might trouble you for another bag? A vampire gets ever so hungry in this here prison and as you say, it’s likely to be the last time I’ll ever taste a sweet drop of blood.”

Buffy thought he was rather overdoing it but Riley seemed to be lapping it up, “I’ll see what I can do,” he said gruffly and as he marched away, Buffy thought he was standing a little taller, smug at having got one over on the vampire. Little did he know.

“Suck up,” hissed Buffy as Riley disappeared down the corridor.

“Believe me, it pained me more than it pained you. Did you hear? I called him ‘Sir’.” Spike rammed two fingers into his open mouth, feigning a gag, “but needs must. I figure if I’m expecting you to play nice with your amorous kidnapper, I can do the same to buy myself a little energy for you-know-what.” He winked at her then in a way that suggested the “you-know-what” was not an escape plan at all but something far seedier. She flushed and he recovered the conversation before she got all shy, he didn’t want her pissing off back into her cell, “Nice outfit by the way, you look like you’re about to start a fist fight down the pub.”

“Sounds more like something you’d do,” said Buffy, fairly, and Spike smirked in response.

“Yeah well, that’s part of my charm ain’t it. Part of what stops me being ordinary.” He savoured the word, knowing it would make her uncomfortable. Buffy was not quite sure when her conversations with Spike had turned from pure venom to banter, but she got the feeling they were not in Kansas anymore.

***


	10. Sticking it to the Man

In the permanently neon-lit corridors of their one-star army motel, it was difficult to tell when time was passing. The only marker that it was evening was the lights in their cells turning off, but the bright beams from the corridor meant it didn’t make much of a difference. As they were plunged into a slightly-shadier version of blinding white, Spike whispered, “Oi. Buffy.” Buffy was sitting cross-legged on her hard bed, rolling the end of the foam mattress up into a burrito and then releasing it and watching it sluggishly return to its original state. “C’mere.” It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. She walked up to the bars of her cell, feeling weirdly more positive the moment she laid eyes on her arch enemy. 

“That was easy,” he said, “Do you always do what vampires tell you?” He raised a smug eyebrow.

“It’s not like I have highly entertaining plans for the evening,” she retorted, “what do you want? More planning?”

“Oh God no, I don’t think I could take a moment more of that agony, felt like I might spontaneously combust from the boredom. Can barely bring myself to remember the plan we’ve already got let alone making up a new one.”

“Then what?”

“Bored,” he replied simply. At that moment, they heard the soft footsteps of the night guard and Spike shouted, “You listen here Slayer, when I get my hands on you tomorrow, I’m going to peel your eyeballs like lychee and squash them between my toes.”

The guard’s expression flicked briefly to one of revulsion as he turned to walk back the way he’d come.

“How do you think this stuff up?” said Buffy.

“Easy, one of my favourite hobbies ain’t it, creative ways to murder the slayer.” He felt unsure, having said it, that it was tactful to let her know how much he thought of her.

“Well, it’ll have to remain a hobby, these eyeballs aren’t going anywhere,” she said, and Spike was pleased to see she was totally unperturbed, “And when I kill you, it’s gonna be quick.”

“Oh, come on, give me something.”

“Fine, I’m gonna snap your arms out of their sockets and beat you round the head with them. Happy?” 

He answered with a chuckle. “You finished with that Gatorade from Mr Muscle?”

Buffy retrieved the bottle from its hiding place under a corner of the mattress and held it up to show that it was empty. “I never got why you still eat and drink, isn’t it kinda unnecessary for a vampire?”

“Kinda unnecessary for you and your mates to hang around being little twerps all the time but you do it anyway,” he shot back, “I didn’t want a drink, chuck us the bottle cap.”

Buffy screwed the cap off the bottle, curious to see what Spike wanted to use it for. She threw it through the bars and he caught it in one hand with a grin, dashing it back in her direction where she caught it just as easily. She couldn’t quite believe that she was playing a friendly game of catch with William the Bloody. After a fairly lengthy back and forth, Buffy was the first to miss, the bottle cap pinging off the bars of Spike’s hatch and rolling off loudly down the corridor, the sound bouncing around the room. They both dissolved into giggles, Spike raising a finger to his lips to shush her as they both retreated to their beds, pretending to be asleep when the guard came to investigate the noise. 

Once he’d returned to his station, they carried on chatting for a bit, the conversation flowing easily once they got into the topic of fights they’d been in, until Buffy started yawning and decided it might be wise to get some sleep before they staged their great escape. It felt weird to say goodnight to him, too intimate, but too rude to say nothing after the evening they’d had, so Buffy settled for a, “See you tomorrow.”

Spike, who had no such proclivity to overthinking, replied, “Goodnight,” the word sticking in Buffy’s brain like an inflating piece of bubble-gum, and causing her at least another hour of restlessness before she finally drifted off.

It wasn’t long after the lights came on that Buffy was collected for round 3 of her illustrious new career as a cage fighter. “Morning lads,” said Spike cheerfully to the gathered soldiers as they huddled round Buffy’s door, one applying handcuffs and the others gripping their tasers determinedly, “Hope you’ve placed your bets. Curtains seems to think Buffy here has it in the bag but he doesn’t know she wouldn’t be the first slayer I’ve killed. Of course, he fancies her so I suppose we can forgive him the oversight. Bloody tragic fancying your prisoner, ain’t it.” Agent Gates nudged another soldier with his elbow. Spike noticed it instantly and called out, “Oh Stretch, they’ve figured you out! I think they’ve been gossiping about your doomed romance.”

They ignored him but it didn’t matter. Spike was on a roll. He was looking forward to the morning ahead and he was quite content monologuing as they headed off down the corridor in tight formation around Buffy, “You’ll go down in history, Action Man. Saddest squaddie since records began, had to take a girl as a prisoner of war so she’d listen to his flirting. So long, slayer, kill you later!”

Not long after, his turn came and Riley was extra rough with his handling of the vampire. Spike was of course, pleased to have finally got a reaction, “Come on Tin Soldier, no hard feelings. No need to take it out on me. Come on, I’m sure if I kill the slayer, another captive’s bound to come along sooner rather than later. There’s plenty more prisoners in the sea. Especially if you’re the one catching them in the first place. You can take your pick. Not too sure why you picked the slayer, come to think of it. You must have rotten taste in women.”

This was Spike’s first outing since the day with the blood bag and it felt great to stretch his legs, however tightly shackled they were. He could see why there’d been nothing to report on the layout, the place was a bloody maze, all bright white and not a whole lot else. By the time they made it down the elevator and along what felt like miles of generic hospital-style corridors, Spike had pissed Riley off so thoroughly that he was kicked into the entry pod with a boot to the centre of his back. Never one to be beaten, he stuck a thumb up at Riley, “Thanks mate, I think something just clicked. My back’s been giving me jip for years!” 

He turned then to allow them to remove the handcuffs and leg irons, catching his first full-length glimpse of Buffy where she wasn’t surrounded by soldiers. He thought she looked rather charming in her soft grey sweats. He wondered if she’d worn them to sleep in last night, and if they’d given her any underwear, before wrestling his mind back towards the task at hand. He’d known about the gallery from Buffy’s description and he turned towards them, watching the soldier boys traipse in behind the two scientists, one of whom was rather gorgeous and the other one, who he guessed was Walsh, looking like she’d rip his bollocks off given half a chance. He liked that in a woman. He winked at her, making a wanking motion in the air with an open mouth. She remained unruffled, rising to step to the side of the gallery.

“Good to see you again, Buffy,” said Walsh smoothly. Spike thought it was a little rude that she had not bothered to address him and cleared his throat loudly as if to remind her of his presence. He thought he would like to kill her personally, when the time came. “I’ve heard that today’s sub-terrestrial has been causing quite some trouble for the agents the past few days. I’m sure you’ll make light work of him. We’ve been getting some excellent insight watching back the videos of your fights.”

“Hey! You never said you were filming those,” said Buffy, “Might have been nice to give me a hair brush first.” She turned almost imperceptibly towards Spike, who curled one side of his mouth in an approving smile. Walsh sat down then, not entertaining the conversation and Buffy heard the countdown begin for the third time in as many days. This time, the adrenaline rush was different. Where before, it had been the thought of fighting the demons for the benefit of the gallery that had spun her head, now it swirled with the excitement of the impending action, and a feeling that her and Spike were playing a monumental game of chicken here, each trusting the other not to kill them. If it came down to it, Spike was a far more even match than she would care for, perhaps more so in his heightened state of hunger.

“Three, two, one.” The disembodied voice ceased and the door of Spike’s pod whooshed open immediately after. He swaggered out, always pleased to have an audience for whatever antics he got up to. The soldiers might have ignored him in the cell but now it was all eyes on old Spike and his new blonde accomplice. “Good job I’m not claustrophobic,” he said conversationally to Buffy, knowing his voice would be heard by those watching, “Would have made a terrible start for our little protest.” He strutted over to Buffy, both of them raising their fists as if to fight.

“Huh,” said Buffy, “You know what Spike? I don’t feel too much like fighting today.” She resisted the urge to flick her eyes towards the gallery for a reaction.

“It’s funny slayer, all the blood lust seems to have drained out of my body.” He turned towards the gallery then, grinning, “We don’t want to play your little game. We’re not Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots, you know.” He clutched a hand dramatically to his chest, “We have feelings.” Their plan hinged on the fact that the army were unlikely to leave them in the room forever. It was no use to them letting the slayer rot, and after all, straight-laced types tended to get all power-trippy if you meddled with their grand plans. While they waited for the Action Men to live up to their name, Spike carried on taunting the scientists above.

“No offence Buff, you know I’d have your guts for garters any day of the week.”

“None taken. Kill you later. Rain check till we get out?”

“You’re on,” said Spike, offering a cold hand which she shook, both feeling unwelcome pangs of something unlike hatred rippling in their chests. It was the first time their bodies had ever come into contact in a non-fighting situation and for a moment, their surroundings melted away as they gripped each other’s hands. A timely distraction arrived in the form of stomping boots approaching in the hallway outside, breaking the surreal moment of connection. Riley, who remained in the gallery, spoke through the intercom then. “Hostile 17, Hostile 18, this is your warning. Return to the door to be handcuffed. I repeat, it is time to go back to your cells. Return to the portholes.”

Buffy folded her arms. “Looks like the slayer doesn’t wanna be your play thing anymore,” Spike observed casually, aiming his next remark at a furious Walsh, “And by the way, your soldier boy’s been giving us special attention. Brought me and Buffy a lovely dinner yesterday. Thanks, Curtains.” 

The doors burst open. They certainly weren’t playing around. At least a dozen soldiers swarmed through the doors and Spike and Buffy threw each other a quick smile before they set to work. Spike jumped into a flying kick, cutting through the air like a spear and taking out the pocket of soldiers closest to him. Only a handful of them had tasers and Buffy managed to wrench one out of her first opponent’s hands in the melee, using it to zap another soldier who fell to the floor, twitching violently. Buffy grabbed his taser and yelled for Spike to take it. Now that they were armed, they were almost unstoppable. Within seconds, all of the soldiers were on the floor and Spike and Buffy had two tasers each. 

The door through which Buffy had entered was open and they made a break for it, encountering another waiting formation. Spike swung a taser like a baseball bat, cracking it into the cheekbone of a soldier, who crumbled. They tased the others, running off along another passageway.

They were flying blind, there was no telling which floor they were on, let alone where the exit was, but it felt great to be taking a stand. As they ran down the corridors, Spike started laughing. “Brilliant!” he shouted over sirens which were now blaring, and Buffy couldn’t help but join in the mirth. After so long couped up in a cell, it was indeed brilliant to be loose and on the run whilst chaos reigned around them. The boring white walls were now lit by the flashing red and blue lights which accompanied the alarm system. Several of the doorways began to close as they approached but they made light work of sliding underneath them, fuelled by adrenaline. 

Buffy always felt her training sessions with Giles lacked the real-life exhilaration brought by fighting a vamp in a life-or-death situation, mostly because she had to hold back to avoid accidentally maiming her dear watcher. But in this moment, running full tilt down the bright white corridors of the Initiative, like some great unstocked supermarket aisles, Spike by her side, she was feeling the benefits of Spike being her supernatural equal. 

A moment later, the joy was snuffed out as they found themselves faced with a wall of army guys with guns pointed at them. “Nope,” said Buffy and they skidded to a halt, turning to run in the other direction and finding their way equally blocked. “Oh bugger,” said Spike, “Maybe we should have gone a bit deeper on the planning front after all.” 

“You think?”

Triggers were pulled and the darts hit them from both sides, Spike instinctively grabbing Buffy’s hand as they toppled.

***


	11. Three's a Crowd

Riley Finn had only ever known his small-town Iowa farm and the army. Even his college experience had been heavily curated by his commanders, from the dorm he shared with his fellow agents to the scant selection of courses they were permitted to take to supplement their work for the Initiative. His decision to enlist had been made for him; ever since he could remember, he would be encouraged to try on his father’s army uniform, and his dad would tell him that the day he joined up would be the happiest of his life. Not that Riley minded. He had happily dreamed of the day he could leave for bigger and better things. He had been perfectly satisfied living out his childhood on the farm but he was raised in a military family and he couldn’t wait to make them proud.

Of course, all the talk from his father could not have prepared him from the unit he ended up in. After basic training, the troops had received a visit from Maggie Walsh, a psychology professor who specialised in behaviour. She had read out a list of names, one of which had been Riley’s and they had been taken to another room to be informed they had been selected for a special assignment. He remembered the excitement the next day as him and a handful of his cohort had been bussed away to some top-secret location, which had turned out to be the Initiative. That first day, they’d been shown around a corridor filled with glass-fronted cells, behind which stood creatures that made the hairs stand up on the back of Riley’s neck. 

They had been taught from day one that the value placed on the life of an HST was close to zero, they were worth only what they could do in terms of advancing the army’s research. Buffy wasn’t the first Hostile 18, of course, just the Hostile 18 of this particular study. She was the first non-demon he’d encountered though. He’d lost count of how many monsters had passed through their doors. They were stalked, hunted, studied and cast aside. Of course, Sunnydale wasn’t the permanent home of the Initiative, they’d moved there without much warning when the hellmouth had been located. Assignments were usually sprung on them last minute. His time there had been happy, lots of challenging work and strong friendships, a real sense that he was making a difference in the world, however unknown to the citizens they protected. 

He really hadn’t questioned anything until the day he had been given the orders by Professor Walsh. “Agent Finn,” she had said, “If the slayer comes back and wants to work with us, I want you to give her a warm reception, treat her like royalty. Whatever she wants, she gets. She could be invaluable to us. We had no idea the slayer was even real until recently.”

“And if she refuses?” he’d asked.

“Then you will treat her as any other hostile supernatural creature in our care. Buffy Summers will no longer be a consultant for us, but a prisoner.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little over the top?”

“Agent Finn, I hope I don’t have to remind you of your rank. I see no reason why a reasonable US citizen should turn down the opportunity to assist her country in this way. I don’t imagine it will be necessary. I’ve briefed Agents Gates and Miller, they’ll be with you tomorrow afternoon and they know the plan. I don’t expect further discussion on the matter.”

He wasn’t quite sure how it had come to this, booted out for giving stolen rations to a prisoner. Walsh hadn’t even looked at him as she told him he was being dismissed for gross misconduct. A dishonourable discharge. “An enormous breach of trust,” Walsh had called it, sat front and centre of the quickly assembled panel, which comprised of herself, a woman in a suit and a man from HR with a clipboard and a frown. The woman had informed him that they would not be taking legal action at this juncture, and he had been reminded of his duty to protect any and all state secrets he had picked up along the way. He thought this was overkill. He was a drop in the ocean, the bottom rung of the ladder. The information he knew was hardly going to bring down a nation.

He would receive two months’ pay, which felt like a bribe for going quietly, and had been told in no uncertain terms that this also spelled the end of his college career. The university had a strong working relationship with the dean. Of course, it was all hush hush and under the table but if Walsh wanted him out, he was as good as gone. 

Forrest and Graham had accompanied him to the dorms to pack his bags. He’d been told to vacate within the hour. “Why’d you do it man?” said Forrest, shaking his head in disbelief, “She’s fine but she’s not that fine. She was a prisoner.”

“Yeah,” added Graham, “if you were having a hard time getting girls’ numbers, you could’ve just said something.”

“It’s not that,” said Riley, moving the contents of his sock drawer into a holdall. In true army style, they were rolled into neat pairs and he fitted them meticulously into one end of the bag. “Don’t you ever think it’s kinda crazy? I mean, the HSTs, I get it, but Buffy? She’s a human.”

Forrest scoffed, “Did you see what she did to those vamps in there? How can you see her fight like that and call her human? That ain’t right, man. She’s not natural.”

“Whatever she is, she’s not the enemy,” insisted Riley.

“He’s got it bad,” said Graham to Forrest, shaking his head dolefully.

“Look guys, I appreciate the… whatever this is, but can we drop it? I’m not interested in Buffy. Besides, it seems kinda obvious her and Hostile 17 have got something going on. I’m not gonna pretend that doesn’t blow my mind a little, a slayer and a vamp, but if that’s how desperate she was, to join voices with that animal? I think we’re all a little to blame here. We should never have put her in that position in the first place.”

“Hey, don’t put this on me,” said Forrest, “I stand by what we did. I’d pick that slayer up again in a heartbeat. She’s right where she belongs. It’s not a good idea for civilians to be walking round with that much power.”

“And with her not walking around,” said Riley, “how do we know the citizens aren’t worse off?” Since his unceremonious dumping from the programme, it was as though the dam in his brain, the one which kept him from interrogating the Initiative’s actions too closely, had burst. Suddenly, he felt unsure why he had agreed to take part in Buffy’s capture in the first place. He had known, somewhere under the layers of army protocol, that it didn’t feel right. Any loss he may have felt, had he been kicked out two weeks ago, was overshadowed by a sense of shame and guilt.

“We’re agents,” said Graham, “That’s not for us to worry about.”

“Where are you gonna go now?” asked Forrest, trying to steer the conversation back to dry land.

“Back home to Iowa, I’m on the next flight outta here,” Riley lied. He really didn’t need the boys to know his next movements. They were sure to think him a traitor of the highest order if they knew where he was headed. He’d already been relieved of his credentials and he and his friends packed the rest of his belongings in melancholy silence. They’d become so close over the last few years, would have died for each other. They had never thought of the day they might have to part ways. 

“I’ll send a truck for the rest of my stuff in a week or two,” he promised as he slung the holdall onto his shoulder, which was already half taken up by an enormous military backpack. They walked him out, each giving him a solemn handshake. They didn’t need to say it, all of them knew they would not be staying in touch. It was more than either soldier’s jobs were worth. Riley waved so long as he got into a cab and headed off to beg forgiveness from the slayer’s friends.

***

Spike drifted into consciousness, vaguely aware of the solid floor underneath his leaden body, and something hard pressing against his neck. The walls looked no different to those of his previous cell, only these were slightly further apart. “They’ve given me an upgrade,” he thought groggily, attempting to lift his head but deciding that was too difficult and instead opening his eyes to scan the room. Bigger though it was, this cell was markedly more bare. In fact, there was no furniture. The walls were blank save for an oversized, wood-framed mirror covering a large portion of one wall. 

The doors came off a half-lobby which jutted out from the room, one of which was identical to that of the previous enclosure, and the other more of the swinging, saloon door variety. Small white tiles peeping out from underneath the gap suggested that this was a bathroom. Spike thought that was probably for the best, he couldn’t imagine the slayer wanting to relieve herself in his presence. Trust the US army to be prudish about such things as mixed-sex bathroom usage, but not about basic human rights, thought Spike.

Raising his hand to the something-hard behind his neck, he found that the uncomfortable solid item was in fact encircling his entire throat, some sort of thick plastic collar. He sat up, searching it with his hands, perplexed to find it was not chained to anything. He had expected it to be some sort of shackling device. He was unsurprised, however, to find that there was no catch or clasp with which to remove the damn thing. He was stuck with it for now. His eyes landed on the only notable feature in the room, a tousle-haired, sweatpant-clad, unconscious Buffy, also with a collar around her neck. He saw that it was white with a few blinking yellow lights under the surface. Probably some sort of enhanced alarm mechanism to make it even sodding harder for them to escape, knowing his luck.

Once upon a time, Spike’s feelings towards the slayer had been less complex. It had been a pure drive to end her life, to watch her suffer, to feel the hat-trick victory of murdering a third slayer. The desire to watch her suffer still remained, though somewhat dampened by and muddled up with the feeling that he wanted to watch her laugh, cheer her up, spend time with her. A wonky fucking world he’d landed in ever since those pillocks from the army had snuck up on him and ballsed everything up. 

Still, one fact remained true, whichever version of Spike was being asked. He had never wanted her handed to him on a plate. The thrill of the chase, the difficulty in obtaining, that was what made slayer blood so bewitching. The all-consuming hunt. He didn’t want to kill her while she was unconscious. She wouldn’t even notice. He wanted to win the battle fair and square, watch the moment of realisation dawn on her face, the moment she knew she was his. He spent a couple of happy minutes thinking of other ways she could be his, leaning up against the wall furthest from her.

Eventually, he’d become bored of waiting for her to rouse herself, calling out, “Coo-ee, slayer. Wakey wakey, rise and shine.” She unglued her heavy eyelids, disoriented and groggy, finding a vast expanse of concrete ceiling stretched out before her. She saw the top of the door and yelled towards it groggily, “Thanks for that, Spike. I was sleeping.” Her mental faculties were slowly trickling back and she was startled by how close the reply was. “What are you shouting for, you daft cow? I’m right here.” She sat up quickly then, reaching a hand out to steady herself as the room tilted slightly on some unseen axis. Her hand flew up to her collar, feeling her way around it with a frown on her face in much the same way Spike had done.

“You’ve got one too,” she said. “What do you think it is?”

“A bit matchy matchy for my liking,” said Spike with a grin, “Never thought I’d see the day we chose the same accessories. Looks like some sort of bloody tracer, probably so they can find us if we try to get out again.”

“Right, because we did such a great job of that the first time round,” she said, screwing up her face at the memory of the moment they’d been caught, “They must be mad to put me in here with you.”

“Bloody hell, someone got out of bed on the wrong side. I’m not exactly thrilled about the situation myself, you know.” He folded his arms sulkily. 

“Er, Spike, hate to point this out to you, but you’re a vampire. You literally kill people and drain their blood.”

“All right, point taken. But I made a solemn oath to you that I wouldn’t kill you until we were back on home turf and I meant it. Pinkie promise. Besides, not much point killing you in here, I’ll be stuck with your rotting corpse.” He wrinkled his nose. “Rather have you as a human shield to help me escape.”

“Well, it was a nice speech to begin with, I guess. Kinda got a little dark there once my corpse started rotting.”

“What can I say, once a poet, always a poet.” He winked at her then, which seemed to jolt a little more life back into her.

“What was in the darts they shot us with?” asked Buffy.

“I don't know but at least it wasn’t bullets. I’m bloody sick of getting shot.”

“Do you get shot often?”

“Kinda goes with the territory, skulk around enough in enough people’s back gardens, eventually some Yank’s bound to pull a gun on you. Your lot are really trigger happy.”

“Call me old fashioned, but I prefer a stake.”

“Ah well, that’s what makes being your enemy such fun,” said Spike. 

Buffy wasn’t too sure how to respond to that. She guessed it was kinda flattering, in a way. “I really gotta get round to buying that gun,” she said, the hint of a playful smile dancing in her eyes.

“Cheeky cow. Look, they’ve put a mirror in here. Must have been taking pity on your pitiful Barnet. You’d have thought they’d have given you a comb as well, mind you.”

“My pitiful what now?” said Buffy, taking care as she stood but finding the leg irons she was expecting had been removed, “Hey, look! No chains.”

“Barnet Fair. Hair. And it’s a shame,” said Spike, “In different circumstances, a set of shackles can do wonders for the mood.” He raised an eyebrow and Buffy tutted. “But I guess we don’t need ‘em now that we’ve got our little tracking devices fitted. Probably just waiting for us to kill each other, anyway. Not much use keeping us chained up if they want us to duel to the death.”

She stood at the mirror, raking her fingers through her hair and grimacing as she tugged at the collar, rotating it to see if she could find a way out of it to no avail. “Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that there’s a mirror in here?” said Buffy then, bringing her face close to the glass and glaring at her own reflection.

“Oh, terribly,” mocked Spike, “never trust a mirror. Might break it and get seven years bad luck. Imagine that! Might put you in an even bigger prison with an even nastier vampire.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“No, dummy,” she said, knocking on the mirror, which made a loud, hollow boom, “I mean, I think there’s a room back there.”

“Ah well, what difference does it make. Not much for them to watch us doing.” He stood up, joining Buffy at the mirror. 

“Hey, how do you bleach your hair without a reflection?” she asked conversationally.

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” he replied quickly, “Takes all the mystery out.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. You’re so mysterious.”

Spike ignored her and started banging on the glass, which made a hollow boom, “Hello in there. Hope you’re admiring the view. Why not be a lamb and let us out for a little stroll,” he said loudly, “Promise I won’t bite anyone.” Buffy laughed as he crossed his fingers behind his back, and he turned to her with a theatrical “Shh”, putting a finger to his lips and winking at her again. She felt a little winded by this, flirting with her seemed to come a little too easily to him. She turned and hammered on the glass, “Come on,” she said, “no fair. You can see us but we can’t see you.” The mirror vanished a moment later, replaced with a brown tinted window through which they could see a small desk with a computer, two chairs and a small microphone, like the kind tellers used to speak through the partition at the bank. 

The occupant of the room was a placid looking Indian woman with bangs, old-fashioned half-moon glasses and a brown turtle neck under a lab coat. She looked like the sort of person you would find reading a story to children at the back of a book store, a little younger than Walsh and a little shorter, elbows resting on the table as she regarded them steadily through the two-way mirror which was now a two-way window. Her glasses were attached to a woven multi-coloured cord, which hung under her low pony tail. Her large, piercing eyes were a deep brown and her eyebrows were neatly plucked into a pleasing shape. In short, she was not what Buffy had been expecting.

When she spoke, her voice was slightly deeper than Walsh’s but she spoke with a similarly prim and proper tone. “Good afternoon, Hostiles. I’m Dr Asher. I’ll be configuring your new collars.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, at last! They're in the same room. 
> 
> TFR everyone read leave a comment if you have a mo, thoughts and opinions are most welcome.


	12. Naughty Dog

Riley had visited Willow’s dorm first and found it empty. After his initial fruitless attempt, he was now standing at Rupert Giles’ front door. He felt a little self-conscious of the enormous quantity of luggage hung about his person. He already felt guilty about having snooped through Buffy’s belongings when they had been confiscated at the Initiative. He’d managed to swipe her address book on his way out, under the pretence of emptying his locker, and had hidden it away in the deep pockets of his fatigues. Rupert’s name, address and telephone number had been listed under the emergency contacts section, next to those of Joyce Summers. He’d had enough conversation with Buffy before this whole fiasco to know that Rupert, or Giles as she called him, was some sort of mentor character. She’d mentioned him in passing once, and when Riley had asked if Giles was her dad, she’d replied, “Kinda,” and following a little prompting, “More like a life coach, I guess.” Evasive and confusing answers were part of the Buffy Summers MO and he had pried no further.

Once he’d found out more about the slayer, he’d assumed Rupert Giles was her watcher, although thankfully he’d kept this suspicion from his colleagues. Not that he wouldn’t have told them, he’d just wanted a little more certainty before making such a bold claim. A little snooping on a computer at the public library that afternoon had unearthed the fact that Mr Giles had been the librarian at Buffy’s old high school. That, coupled with the “need to talk to Gi—” she’d let out before catching herself in Walsh’s office was probably enough to be more than a coincidence. He decided to chance it. He thought it a better bet than showing up to see the mother, anyhow. There was no address under Joyce’s entry and Riley reasoned with himself that she could live out of state. In reality, he didn’t know that he could face the mother of the girl he’d wronged so terribly. He preferred his chances with the watcher.

He thought it looked a little presumptuous turning up with his worldly belongings but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He could hear muffled talking from within as he raised a fist to knock at the door. There was no going back now, but then, there had been no going back before. He had to at least try to make amends for the trouble he’d caused. He’d been running scenarios in his head about a possible reception and all of them had ended badly. However, he was struck momentarily dumb when the door was at last opened by a familiar face. “Dr McGowan?” he managed, after gawping at the Initiative scientist for a few seconds.

“Agent Finn,” she replied in alarm, “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Giles, unnerved at the sound of Riley’s name, had sprung to his feet and now appeared behind Kate’s right shoulder. “You’re not welcome here,” he said curtly, moving a hand towards the back of the door as if to close it. Riley spoke quickly, keen to buy himself some time to explain himself.

“You must be Mr Giles. I don’t work for the Initiative anymore,” he said, “They kicked me out when they found out I was sneaking food to Buffy.” Giles’ expression was inscrutable. “I don’t know what Dr McGowan’s doing here but I want to help you any way that I can.”

Anya, who couldn’t resist getting involved in high pressure moments, had come to join the fun. “Shame on you Riley Finn,” she said, “you kidnapped our friend.” 

“I know,” he said, “I shouldn’t have done it. I want to make it right.” 

“Wouldn’t it have made more sense to just not snatch her in the first place?” aked Anya in a perplexed voice, head tilting slightly to one side as if trying to size him up.

“Yes. I realise that. I know it’s too little too late but please, I just want to help. Please just give me a few minutes of your time.” 

Anya softened then, sensing the same dejected energy that had been coming from Xander these past few weeks when he had been searching for a job and found none forthcoming. Of course, now he had his job on the construction site. She smiled at the thought of Xander doing menial labour in the hot sun. She looked to Giles, “Oh, what the hell,” she said, turning to Riley with a stern finger pointed, “You promise you’re not in the army anymore?”

“On my honour,” said Riley, and Giles scoffed.

“Yes, and what an honourable young man you’ve proven to be thus far.”

“I can make some calls and find out if he’s telling the truth,” said Kate, “We might as well let him in until I’ve done so. He’s already seen me here. We don’t have to tell him anything until we’re certain he’s on our side.”

Giles couldn’t fault the logic, and finally opened the door, “You’d better come in I suppose,” he said, eyeing Riley’s backpack and holdall warily, “You can leave those in the hall. I’d prefer it if you didn’t have access to whatever’s in there until we verify your story.”

Riley considered explaining that he was unlikely to do much damage with several pairs of socks and some civilian clothes, but decided it was better to do as he was told, and neatly piled his bags by the door. As he walked across the threshold, he had found three more pairs of eyes looking him up and down from the couch, scathingly. There was one other guest, a glowering blonde girl in a tight pink T-shirt who hadn’t bothered to look up from her magazine. She gave off major teenager vibes. He assumed she must be Giles’ daughter. “Riley,” he told himself, “You got yourself into this mess. You’re gonna have to suck it up.” He smiled weakly at the gathered friends of the woman he’d taken prisoner, as Giles brought a dining chair to him without a word and indicated that he should take a seat.

***

The moment Dr Asher smiled at Spike and Buffy, her fluffy and warm façade had been harshly pulled back. Suddenly she had an intense, unsettling energy about her, as if she were about to skin a puppy. Buffy, who rarely flinched at anything, took a step back, feeling as though the woman might leap through the window at any moment. Spike, who had also felt the tension thicken noticeably, remained close to the glass, peering through at the doctor as though she were some interesting specimen pinned to a cork board at a museum. “What’s the deal with these collars then, Doc? Got a chip in there, have they? Gonna stop us from escaping without your crew seeing our every move, or maybe it’s more of a catch and release-type deal. You tag the offenders and release them into the wild on supervision.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the doctor said, “We shan’t be releasing you.”

Spike turned back towards Buffy then. “Oh good,” he said, “She’s got a sense of humour.”

“Those collars you’re wearing,” Dr Asher pressed on, “Are not tracking devices as you so cleverly suggest, Hostile.”

Spike said to Buffy, “Why do I get the feeling when she calls me clever, she’s not being genuine?” 

Dr Asher grabbed the computer mouse, turning her focus to her screen and tapping a few keys on the keyboard. “The collars are a prototype I’ve been working on for some time now. We tried them on some of the first Hostiles we had at the facility. We had some teething difficulties getting the levels right, lost a few lab rats to the cause,” she explained.

Spike took a step closer to Buffy, not to move away from the doctor but a protective instinct on hearing the callous words from the scientist in the room beyond. Buffy felt her resolve strengthen as he moved towards her, felt less alone.

“Levels for what, Doc? Come on, the suspense is killing us, ain’t it Buff?”

“Oh boy, I can’t wait,” said Buffy sarcastically.

“Well, those collars are not dissimilar from a regular shock collar you might get to stop your naughty dog from escaping,” said Asher, emphasising the ‘naughty dog’ in a patronising tone, “Only with one crucial addition. The sensors we’ve developed can take readings from the spinal column via the back of the collar. A clever bit of technology we borrowed from one of our hostiles in another programme. In essence, it allows us to follow brain activity without the need for a pesky brain surgery to implant a device. We lost a few more Hostiles learning that lesson.”

“Lost a lot of prisoners,” said Spike casually, “seems you lot are rather careless with your charges.”

“Funny you should say charges,” said the doctor dourly, “I’m sure you’ve encountered the taser rifles I developed already?” Neither Spike nor Buffy had a pithy reply for once, and she continued, “Well, of course these are closer to your spine than the tasers, so they don’t have to be charged quite so high. They’re not intended to knock you out - unless you’re really misbehaving. Just enough to correct any unwanted behaviours, you see. It’s a highly intelligent system, I have the software here on my computer and I can change the settings to correct different behaviours as I see fit. I could make it so you couldn’t brush your own teeth without getting a nasty zap.”

“Pure evil you are,” said Spike, “A real monster. Jeopardising our dental hygiene like that.” Buffy began to giggle, when all of a sudden, Spike fell to the floor as though his feet had been yanked out from underneath him. A guttural yell of pain rent the air.

“Of course,” said Asher as Spike got unsteadily to his feet, glowering, “I can administer shocks ad hoc, also. Like so!” Another tap of her keyboard and it was Buffy’s turn to fall. As the zap jolted down the back of her spine, it was as though Buffy’s muscles lost strength beneath her and she fell when what felt like a flaming comet shot down to the base of her spine. The let out an anguished scream. It was a pain unlike any she had ever felt, soberingly so, but it went in a flash, like recovering from brain freeze.

“Oi, what’d you do that for?” said Spike, “She didn’t even say anything!”

“It’s very sweet that you’re so keen to stand up for the slayer, vampire. You two are a regular odd couple.” Buffy got to her feet then and Spike took another step so they were shoulder to shoulder now, in solidarity as the doctor continued, “You’ve caused quite the stir in the Initiative. In fact, we’re quite certain it won’t be possible to study either of you long term. You’re what we call HRHSTS – high risk hostile sub terrestrials.”

“She’s not a sub terrestrial, she’s the bloody chosen one!” Buffy felt flattered and a little confused at Spike’s being so outraged on her behalf.

“It’s of no consequence,” said Asher, “you were brought here to fight and you refused. As is your right, I suppose, but if we can’t watch you fighting, you’re useless. I managed to borrow you for one final experiment, however. It’s a perfect way for me to test the effectiveness of my program.”

“So, what, you’re gonna stick a bunch of toothbrushes in here with us and see how long it takes for us to crack?” said Spike. 

“You two have made an alliance. You don’t wish, for some bizarre reason, to follow the natural order of things and kill one another. Fine. You’re stuck together now. Except,” she paused for what felt like an hour but must have been a minute or so, tapping furiously on her keyboard and clicking the mouse until she gave a small satisfied nod and continued, “I’ve just made it so your chips won’t allow you to hurt each other.”

“So what?” said Spike, “In case you didn’t notice, we aren’t trying to hurt each other anyway, genius. Jesus, you’d think a doctor would have a few more brain cells to rub together.”

“We shall see how deep your loyalties flow. When you’re in here gasping for blood, vampire, you’ll be begging us to let you drain her dry. Be careful what you wish for.” She gave a curt nod and a smile then, “Nice to meet you both. I’m afraid we won’t be seeing each other again.” She pulled a video camera out from a drawer of the desk, pressing it to on and flipping out the viewing screen as she screwed it to a tripod positioned behind her, setting it up to watch the two of them, no doubt. “Of course, we have the surveillance in your room,” she said, indicating to the ceiling where a couple of cameras were mounted at the corners, “but this is for my personal research. The paper I’m writing could change the way we run military protocol across the country.”

“Geez, conceited much?” said Buffy. The tinted glass became a mirror once more then, and the doctor left them with a parting blow, both Buffy and Spike being jolted simultaneously through the backs of their collars, falling to the floor with agonised cries as a door slammed from the next room, signalling her departure.

***


	13. Swallow Your Pride

The gang had not given Riley an easy time. He thought back to his military hazing and decided this was far, far worse. Kate had made a phone call and confirmed his dismissal, but the slight drop in suspicion levels from the others was hardly noticeable. He had tried to keep his cool when they informed him that the blonde girl, who he’d thought was Giles’ daughter, was in fact Spike’s vampire girlfriend, who they were hoping to use as a ticket into the building. Attacking HSTs was a reflex at this point but he managed to suppress it for the benefit of his current company.

Xander was torn. With his military knowledge refreshed and up to date, he was jonesing for someone to talk business with, and Riley certainly ticked that box. However, his fierce loyalty prevented him from entertaining any interest he might have felt at the prospect of Agent Finn’s company. He decided he must keep their interactions on a strictly need-to-know basis. After an hour or so of terse planning, Tara spoke up. “Hey guys, I know you don’t know me that well yet but maybe Willow’s told you that I kinda specialise in r-reading people’s auras?” The room turned to her as one from their latest positions around the table, a location Giles had chosen after deciding the living room felt too informal for the likes of the man who had taken Buffy and thrown her to the lions. 

Tara felt nervous to be speaking up but if she could do anything to improve the plan they were making, she felt it was her duty as Willow’s friend. “W-well, I can see in this room, everybody is so busy being angry at Agent Finn, it’s getting in the way of the planning.”

Giles, who had kept a hard expression on his face ever since Riley arrived, shifted guiltily in his chair. “Yes, I can see how that might be the case,” he conceded.

“I’m sorry,” said Riley, “I didn’t want to come here to get in the way of your plan. I really just wanted to see if I could be any help. If you want me to go, I’ll leave.”

“Are you barking mad?” said Kate from her chair next to Rupert, “You and I are the only ones who’ve set foot in the Initiative and you have far more operational knowledge than I do.”

“Yes,” said Giles, “Kate’s right. I’m not going to pretend that we can assuage all of the er – simmering resentment, shall we say? But we can certainly put it aside to do what’s best for Buffy.”

“Welcome aboard,” said Xander, such a soldier-like statement that Anya started to giggle, but she nodded at Riley in agreement.

Giles made a pot of tea for them all then, which Riley understood to be some form of peace offering, and the evening’s planning session became more successful from that point onwards. Whilst the drinks were being poured, Willow had whispered to Tara, “That was amazing! Everyone was all blegh and then you totally called them out.” Tara blushed, and Willow thought she looked incredibly beautiful. She had a painful moment of realisation that she hadn’t thought of Oz since she’d met up with Tara, but pushed it from her mind before it could engulf her. “Everything OK?” asked Tara, picking up instantly on Willow’s discomfort.

“Yeah, fine. Just…feeling a bit guilty for feeling so…not sad.” She thought as she said it that it was a totally absurd combination of words to string together, but Tara nodded sagely and they got back to planning.

Riley and Kate had explained that all the locks in the Initiative were run from a central system, so Tara and Willow’s role in the plan was to use some combination of Will’s computer hacking skills and her magic to get the girls access to a computer somewhere, so they could unpick the locks. What they lacked in numbers, they had decided, they could make up for in chaos. They’d heard that there were demons in various other places in the Initiative, some being studied for long term effects of biological weapons, others having performance enhancing and decreasing drugs tested on them. They figured it was a big risk, but if they released all these creatures at the same time, at least Spike and Buffy had a fighting chance of finding their way out in the ensuing commotion.

There were a few major stumbling blocks to be worked on before then, however. Riley had pointed out that if Willow didn’t turn up to class, it might start to seem suspicious, so it was decided that the next morning she would turn up and put the word about that she wasn’t worried about Buffy’s absence. There was no need to set off any unnecessary alarm bells when the task at hand was already so fraught with difficulties. The next issue was whether or not they needed Riley to come with them. Of course, it would be widely known that he was no longer welcome at the Initiative, but perhaps his presence could provide some sort of cover story for a whole bunch of unknowns turning up with Kate, the only one of their group who had any credibility, or at least a distraction. 

Following Tara’s gentle admonitions, Xander had spent some time with Riley and Kate, going over the blue prints and trying to decide which entrance would present the least challenges for them to enter by. They would have to wait until the following evening to make their move, as Harmony was a vamp and therefore not well suited to being out in the daylight hours. It meant they had one more day to secure their plans. Harmony had been outraged when she’d found out that Spike and Buffy had formed some sort of allegiance on the inside, but Xander had calmed her down by reasoning that they must have gone temporarily insane and would return to their usual selves upon completion of the jail break. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that Buffy would stoop as low as to partner up with the vampire but he guessed he had to trust that whatever was going on in there was bad enough that she’d had no choice.

At the end of the evening, everyone gathered their belongings ready to leave, apart from Riley who had been grudgingly offered a spot on Giles’ couch, and Harmony, who insisted on using Giles’ spare bedroom. Rupert could not quite believe that he had ended up acting as some sort of B&B for the evil and rejected, but he brightened up considerably when Kate planted a quick kiss on his cheek, “Thank you for all your help today,” she said, “I felt so hopeless at the start of all of this but after this evening, I truly believe we have a good chance of making this work.”

“Yes, well,” said Giles, “think nothing of it. The pleasure is all mine.” Kate smiled at this goofy display and raised a hand in goodbye as she headed out.

“Hey Tara,” said Willow bashfully, “the dorm room feels kinda empty without Buffy in it and I don’t really wanna be alone with my thoughts tonight, would you maybe wanna come for a sleepover?”

“Only if we can have popcorn,” said Tara, who was almost bursting with delight at being asked. 

“Ooh, and ice cream!” Willow added excitedly as they waved goodbye to the others.

***

When the lights in their cell went off after a few hours of taking the piss out of each other, the gravity of their situation hit Buffy and she felt like crying. Spike, who was sat opposite the room to her, where they’d been chucking his boot back and forth while they spoke, sensed the shift. “C’mere,” he said, gesturing for her to come and sit next to him. She did, feeling uncomfortable to be so hopeless in the presence of her would-be nemesis. “No need to get all sulky,” said Spike gently, “What, you never been locked up in a government facility and left to rot before?”

Buffy giggled but as she did so, she started crying. Spike was mortified. “Oh bugger. Sorry, pet, I was trying to jolly you along.”

“I know. That’s what made me start crying!”

“Charming.”

“I mean, we’re supposed to want to kill each other and here I am, so pathetic that a vampire’s trying to put me in a good mood.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I still very much want to kill you, once we’re out of here. If I can get this sodding collar off, that is.”

She sniffed back some tears then, wiping her eyes with the back of a hand, “Thanks, it does make me feel better. I wanna kill you too.”

“I want to pull your ears so hard your head splits open and your brain pours out,” offered Spike.

“I want to stake you through the eyeballs,” she returned.

“Oh, come on, stake my eyeballs? What is this, amateur hour?”

“OK, OK. I want to peel you open from the bellybutton upwards, unzip your skin like a jacket.” She giggled at his approving nod.

“That’s more like it!”

They both quietened for a moment then, each thinking how they weren’t actually sure if they did want the other dead anymore. Buffy wondered if it was some kind of crazy Stockholm syndrome from being locked up together. Spike knew better. He was well aware that his heart was prone to flights of fancy, and that his brain was just lucky if it was brought along for the ride. 

“So, do you reckon these collars actually do what she says?” said Spike.

“I don't know but you can guess again if you think you’re testing it out on me.”

“I haven’t exactly got a wealth of other options, Buff. Besides, feel free to be the tester if you want, I’d much rather take a punch from you than one more of those bloody zaps. Just seems a bit bonkers to take that Asher cow at her word. It’s not like she has any reason to want to be honest with us.”

“Yeah but, if we find out we can hurt each other, what then? You gonna get bored and kill me?”

“No, s’pose not,” he said, but curiosity got the better of him and he raised a thumb and a finger to the side of her head, flicking her with his fingernail and howling in pain as a white-hot charge buzzed along his spine. 

Buffy shook her head, “You’re such a weirdo, what exactly did you gain from that little experiment?”

“Well, it alleviated the boredom for a moment.” 

“I guess if we’re gonna watch each other die, we might as well have fun along the way.”

“Watch each other die?” Spike looked stern then in the light which flooded in from the window, and he moved so he was sitting almost nose to nose with Buffy, raising his arms to grip her shoulders tightly, “Listen here slayer. Who said anything about watching each other die? First off, I’m already dead, so that ship has well and truly sailed, in case you hadn’t bleedin’ noticed. And secondly, I’ll be damned if I’m going to form a bloody allegiance with the bloody chosen one and not manage to make a real bloody success of it. Have I made myself clear?”

Hope filled Buffy’s chest as Spike’s speech relieved her of her self-pity. “You’re right,” she said, “And if I know my friends, they’re not just sitting idle while we’re in here either.”

“Exactly,” said Spike, “You and your little Scooby gang are like this,” he crossed his fingers in front of her face, “Those losers are bound to be trying to get you out. Not that they stand half a sodding chance without you on their team but –”

“You’re just jealous because nobody’s looking for you!” said Buffy then, feeling protective of her buddies.

Spike smiled, pleased to see the slayer had got her mojo back. “Look, we’re better off without Harmony sticking her big fluffy pink oar in, I reckon. She’d probably blow the place up.”

“Well, that’s true. Why are you with her anyway? I wouldn’t be too happy if my boyfriend were talking about me that way.” As the words left her mouth, she realised with discomfort how jealous they sounded. 

“What boyfriend, Captain Cardboard?” said Spike with a smirk.

“You know what I mean, hypothetically.”

“Ah, Harm and I are just keeping each other company. It’s nothing serious. I can’t even keep track of whether we’re actually going out or not at any given moment, amount of times we’ve broken up. Half a chance she’s already forgotten I exist and moved on to the next bozo. Even a big bad vampire gets lonely sometimes.”

“I find it hard to believe you get lonely.”

“Well, no, I don’t but it sounds less rude than the real reason we hang about together.”

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

“I know,” said Spike, and without warning, he put an arm around her then, drawing her in towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“I was trying to do the thing, you know, the thing girls do. Being nice.”

Buffy laughed despite herself, “You know, it’s not just girls that can be nice.”

“I know, that’s why I was giving you a …hug,” he explained, the last word sticking in his mouth like a hairball, “Thought it might help you fall asleep. Is it too weird?”

“I don't know,” said Buffy slowly, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Give it a minute?” he suggested.

It felt so good to feel close contact from another – well, not-human. She relaxed into it. Both of them had their backs to the wall, knees up, and Buffy was leaned into Spike’s chest almost tenderly. She closed her eyes and tried to forget how super not-normal this all was. Spike was busy thinking how holding the slayer had to be almost as good as killing her, when he noticed she had fallen asleep.

***


	14. Tooled Up

The next morning, Riley and Xander went off to the dry cleaner where the army’s uniforms were washed and they managed to procure several sets of fatigues by claiming that there had been a new intake that had not been registered in time for uniforms to be ordered. The guy at the laundry thought it seemed a little unusual, but decided that giving a shit was above his pay grade and handed over the goods. He wasn’t even sure he knew where the town’s army base was, if he thought about it. 

Meanwhile, Tara walked Willow to her psych class for moral support before going to her own lectures for the morning, with the promise that they would meet up later. At the beginning of the lecture, Walsh addressed the Riley situation, “Good morning, class. I’m afraid I have some sad news. Riley Finn, my TA, handed in his notice yesterday morning and will no longer be working here. He has also left the college as a student. He will be missed.” At that, she promptly got on with the rest of the lesson. 

At the end of the lecture, Willow was regretting not pre-planning her conversation with the teacher, but Walsh called her to the front anyway and did most of the talking. “Willow,” she asked, “I don’t suppose you know where Buffy is? I’ve noticed she hasn’t been here the last few lessons and I started to get a little worried.”

“You sneaky, sneaky old woman!” thought Willow. How dare the professor try to play her cover-up as genuine concern. She said, “Oh, her mom’s in New York buying art, I just guessed she’d gone with her. She does from time to time… did she not tell you?” They had decided together this was the best tale for Willow to spin, it was non-committal enough, plus it tallied with Joyce’s very real trip to New York, a trip for which Giles was most grateful, not wanting to be the one to break the news about Buffy’s recent incarceration by the US government.

“Oh, yes she told me,” lied Maggie Walsh seamlessly, “It had just slipped my mind. Thank you Willow, that will be all.”

“You’re welcome,” said Willow, hands trembling in her pockets as she left the room. 

Not wanting to leave Buffy hanging without news of her imminent rescue mission, Kate had gone into work as usual, heading directly to Dr Asher to enquire after the prisoners, and offering to go and check on the recording equipment. She thought it best to do everything above board, so far as possible. She’d brought some food and a couple of bags of blood for Buffy and Spike. After all, it was Giles and the others who had a problem with the vampire, not Kate. Even Rupert had agreed that if Harmony was only helping them on the proviso that they in turn helped Spike to escape, it was best to treat him as an equal for the time being. Kate thought it rather sweet how serious Giles sounded when the topic changed to the vampire, it had a decidedly fatherly ring to it.

By the time the lights flickered on in their cell, Buffy and Spike were laying down, snuggled up close. The hard floor wasn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep but the few occasions when Buffy had woken, she had chosen to remain in her position next to Spike, even found herself smiling at him while he slept, a puzzling phenomenon indeed. They both began to sit up upon waking, but didn’t have much of a chance to get their bearings before the mirror switched to tinted window once more, this time revealing a different scientist. Buffy and Spike both recognised her as the brunette from the gallery. “What do you want?” said Spike, “Because I’m pretty sure that Asher bird talked us through all the so-called benefits of our shiny new necklaces already.”

The English voice came urgently and quietly through the microphone, “Can you hear me?” she said in a voice which sounded far more caring than any they’d encountered here thus far. Buffy nodded, “I need you to stay where you are, it’s probably best the cameras don’t pick up any sudden movements from either of you. Try and keep your faces neutral.” Spike and Buffy obliged. “I’ve come to let you know that Rupert and your friends are working on a plan,” she said, and Buffy’s chest filled with relief and love, “And Harmony.” She added as an afterthought, and Spike snorted derisively. 

“Oh, bloody fantastic,” he muttered under his breath, thinking the last thing he needed was Harm turning up and scaring away whatever this thing was between him and the slayer.

“We’ll be here tonight. Be ready. We’re planning to release all the demons at the Initiative, so be on guard. It will be dangerous and we can’t promise we will be able to come and get you. But the doors will unlock automatically if everything goes to plan. Be prepared.”

“Who are you?” said Buffy.

“I’d like to say a conscientious objector but I’m afraid I’m not without blame for what’s happened to you here. I hope that once this rescue mission is over, you’ll be able to consider me a friend. My father and Rupert went to school together. Anyway, I’m afraid there’s no time to stop and chat, I’ll push a few supplies through the hatch. I’ll need one of you to come and collect them so it’s not picked up on the camera. If anyone asks what we talked about, tell them you were being told off for some minor infraction or another, they’ll not find that difficult to believe. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do with regard to the collar situation, I have no idea how Dr Asher’s programming works.” She pulled a small floppy disc from her pocket. “However, Willow assures me that running this disk will at least stop her from being able to come in and modify your programming any further.” She slipped it into the computer with a satisfied smile. “Hide the weapons on your person, I won’t be here again, so you'll need to be on your guard. Best of luck to the both of you and I really hope to see you on the other side.”

“Blimey, even me?” said Spike, who was not used to this sort of treatment, especially from authority figures. Especially from humans.

“And why should I have anything against a vampire I’ve never met?” she said smoothly, switching the mirror back on. Buffy rushed to the doorway to shield their supplies from the cameras. Moments later, several parcels wrapped in brown paper had been pushed through the hatch. She whispered, “there’s a small key in there which will open the panel leading to the toilet cistern. Make sure you hide any rubbish in there, we wouldn’t want you being caught out before the plan has a chance to get properly afoot.” And with that, she was gone. Buffy grabbed the parcels, which put into the tiny bathroom, before returning to Spike. They looked at each other in utter disbelief.

“See,” said Spike, “told you we weren’t gonna watch each other die.” And with that happy notion swirling around his head, he stood up to meet Buffy, scooping her up into a big hug and spinning her round. 

“Uh Spike,” said Buffy, “We’re not supposed to look happy, remember?”

“Oh shit,” said Spike, unceremoniously body slamming Buffy to the floor and falling beside her in the same moment as his collar fired a shot of electricity along his spine.

“Smooth recovery,” she said, frowning as she rubbed her back where she’d landed. She was trying not to beam. The Scoobies had found a way. She hadn’t felt forgotten at any point, she’d been with the gang long enough to know that they would have been trying. But this was better than she could have imagined. They had someone on the inside!

“Can’t believe your bloody loser mates have dragged soddin’ Harmony into this,” grumbled Spike, grumpy from the pain of his latest electric shock, “That woman is a pain in my bleedin’ arse.”

“Oh, she can’t be that bad,” reasoned Buffy, heading to the bathroom to unwrap their parcels, relaying the information to Spike who was waiting outside. There was some blood, a large packed lunch for Buffy which had all the thoughtful trimmings to suggest it was Willow’s doing, including her favourite chocolate bar and cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off, in sweet little triangles. There were also a couple of stakes, slightly on the smaller side to normal, two daggers in sheaths which Buffy recognised to be from Giles’ personal collection and a couple of leg harnesses. Buffy thought it was big of Giles to hand over a weapon he knew would be falling into Spike’s hands, and smiled at the thought of his grouchy demeanour as he did so. She secured a stake and a dagger to her person, feeling much calmer now that she was armed. Sending Spike in after her to collect his own share of the supplies, she thought how easily they seemed to share this small space, compared to how chaotically they coexisted on the outside. She wondered whether anything would be different when they got out of here, and secretly hoped that it very much would.

***


	15. Palm to Palm

“Hey, looks like we’re shaping up to have a decent sized army after all,” said Anya, surveying the room where herself, Xander, Willow and Tara were dressed like fairly believable army agents. “Now that Riley’s joined the gang, we have half a chance of pulling this off.” Procuring boots had been a trickier task, them not being routinely taken off site for any purpose. Eventually, Giles had gone to the army and navy store and bought some with his own money.

Giles, who had been deemed too old to fit in amongst the other agents unquestioned, was wearing a lab coat from a mad scientist costume he had in the attic. Giles’ enthusiasm about Halloween was one of the traits most at odds with his generally rather stuffy demeanour and Giles felt rather vindicated to have come up with a sensible use for one of his old items. To Harmony’s relief, she was not being asked to do much acting. They had devised a persona for her which required little input, thinking it the safest bet. “You just stick to being Harmony, we’ll make the story fit with that,” Xander had instructed, and he had tried to maintain a friendly facial expression when she replied, “Oh good, I’m great at being her!”

Kate had put the word around at the Initiative that she was due to be audited by a German scientist from the highest echelons of some highly advanced demon facility, by the name of Dr Werner. They had decided that another English accent might arouse suspicions and besides, a foreigner was less likely to be asked complicated questions. “Which is ridiculous,” Giles pointed out, “As all the Germans I’ve ever met have had impeccable English, unlike some of the Americans I came across at a particular high school which shall remain nameless.”

“Let’s just assume not everyone is as hot on the ins and outs of what the average German person does and does not know as you are, Herr Werner,” said Xander, butchering the pronunciation and eliciting a grimace from Giles.

“You speak German?” said Harmony, joining the planning party several hours too late.

“And French, Russian, Ancient Sumerian and Latin,” said Giles, as though it should have been obvious, realising too late that the question had been directed at Xander and wondering how Harmony had managed to survive as a vampire this long with such impaired ability to concentrate on anything longer than a TV cereal jingle.

“And here I am barely managing to speak English,” said Xander.

“Yes,” said Giles distractedly, and Xander’s mouth fell open at the ex-librarian’s unintentional slight. 

They were to meet Kate near the Initiative as soon as it was dark, and Giles’ nerves were starting to get the better of him. Normally he was unflappable, but where Buffy was concerned, his capacity for calmness was much reduced. He had the ever-present nagging feeling that this was all his fault. After all, she’d asked him to break the news to the professor about her declining the job offer. He had the sneaking suspicion that were this the case, it would have taken Buffy far less time to retrieve him from wherever it was she had been taken, than it was taking him to do the same. He was assuming from what Kate had said that it was some sort of prison, although keen to spare his feelings, she had been scant with the details. Having sensed Giles’ anxiety levels, she had thought it safer to skim over the specifics.

When Tara had seen Willow emerge from Giles’ bathroom in her camo gear, she had exclaimed, “How do you manage to look good in everything?” and Willow hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Riley was going it alone tonight and he was not as nervous as he might have been. He felt this was only way to compensate for the harm he had caused to Buffy. Despite his protests to the other agents, he did have a crush on her. He knew she didn’t return the feelings, but he thought he only had himself to blame for that. He didn’t think he would be too impressed by her if she’d shoved him through some secret passage into an unfamiliar place where the only menu options were smuggled and plastic-wrapped. He decided as he had blown any chance he may have had at a relationship, the least he could do was aim to make amends and perhaps salvage something of the friendship they’d begun to make.

He was dressed in civilian clothes, he was not going to the base tonight to join the ranks of the Scoobies. He was the distraction. They had decided in the end that using Harmony as bait left her too vulnerable to being killed in the course of her inevitable capture by the soldiers, something Xander was struggling to see the downside of. Instead, she was to be a specimen brought along by Dr Werner for the interest of Dr McGowan. They figured turning up with a demon in shackles was a pretty good form of identification considering tha fact that between the seven of them that were actually planning on getting in, they only had Kate’s ID badge.

Xander, whose magically repaired encyclopaedic army knowledge was proving to be an invaluable boon, had thought of the final puzzle piece for their entry plan. Willow and Tara had been given the task of carrying in a ladder which Xander had appropriated from the construction site. Carrying a ladder through a door made it far likelier that someone would open it without a second thought, something Xander vividly remembered learning on special ops at some point. He knew really that it had never happened, but it didn’t bear thinking about for too long, so he just went with it. Ladders, Xander had explained, were heavy and looked like an object for someone who belonged somewhere. After all, he had pointed out, when did anyone ever take a ladder anywhere they weren’t intending to use it? 

Willow and Tara had been judged the most likely to be recognised, being students at the college themselves, and so they had revisited their disguise spells from earlier in the week, adopting the appearance of slightly wonkified versions of themselves but without the wigs this time, tucking their hair under hats instead. As they milled about Giles’ apartment becoming more and more restless, the clock finally indicated that it was time for them to leave. Willow read out a carefully itemised list, making sure everyone knew where they were going to be and what they needed to bring, and they headed off by foot. An army vehicle was a lot harder to come by, and the Giles-mobile certainly wasn’t up to the task. They’d decided it was safer to arrive the old-fashioned way. The less questions invited, the better, and a parking pass was the last thing they wanted to lose ground over.

Coming to the end of her list, Willow reached the last, heavily-underlined item. “And finally, Harmony,” she said, turning to the vamp whose permanent look of boredom was fixed in place, “Do you remember what we talked about?”

“Don’t say anything, don’t speak to anyone. I’m an angry, German vampire.”

Willow was impressed, “Great!” 

Harmony, who was all too used to being chided by Spike for getting in the way of his plans, had actually taken her part in this very seriously, despite her apparent boredom. In reality, she had listened quite carefully to everything that had been said. She wouldn’t let on about that though. After all, she had a reputation to uphold, and mingling with a bunch of losers and hanging off their every word, was not it. Riley remained quiet as they traipsed out of the door. Although the Scoobies had made steps towards making him feel welcome, there had been a definite overall air that it would be best if he only spoke when absolutely necessary, which was fine by him. Buffy’s safe return would be its own reward.

***

Buffy and Spike had spent a rather enjoyable day sitting in the cell and talking. Now that they knew help was on the way, they didn’t have to trouble themselves to come up with a plan, something they were both thankful for. Spike wasn’t too excited about being grateful for something coordinated by the sodding Scoobie gang, but he’d figured that if he and Buffy were not quite enemies anymore, he might have to relax his stance on her dorky little mates. They had found themselves asking each other initial-stage-of-a-relationshippy-type questions, “What colour are my eyes?” and “Are your feet bigger than mine?” 

At one point they had the soles of their feet pressed up against each other, Buffy in army-issue white plimsolls and Spike in his black leather boots, from which the laces had been confiscated on his arrival. The next logical step had been comparing hand size, and they each held up a hand, pressing palms together, a thrill of excitement travelling through the two of them as they touched each other so gently. The amount of physical contact that had gone between them previously was not insignificant. When she’d wrestled the gem of Amara from his ring finger, they’d been well within the realms of what would be considered a breach of personal space, but this small, delicate action made Buffy’s heart catch in her chest.

They met each other’s gaze almost shyly at first, Spike quickly regaining control of the situation by sticking his tongue out at her, parting her fingers with his and closing his grip so that he was holding her hand. She did the same. He held up his other hand and she matched it with her own. Now they were sat, cross-legged, knee to knee, palm to palm and face to face. It was almost unbearably tender. The frisson built palpably as they regarded one another as equals, not enemies. Buffy’s chest and fingers were almost vibrating with the possibility of what might happen next, when Spike decided “to hell with it” and leant forward, kissing her not on the lips, but on the cheek, before pulling his head back and returning to his neutral position. 

Buffy didn’t ask, “what was that for?” She knew. Three nights in here with Spike, and every night she had fallen asleep thinking of him. Three days where his irreverent mockery of their predicament had made it all seem that much more manageable. It wasn’t like they had ever had the chance to get to know each other before. When his lips had brushed her cheek, she felt giddy with excitement, with wishing he had kissed her elsewhere. She was no wuss. She didn’t need him to pull the trigger first. She leant forward and, exactly as he had planned it, took matters into her own hands. 

Spike was no stranger to the dizzying whims of his foolish heart, but this seemed to be in a league of its own. The chemistry between them was undeniable. They kissed the same way they fought, both anticipating the other easily. There was no awkward bumping of the teeth or fidgeting to find a good angle, it just worked. By the time the kissing had begun, there was no going back, and it was almost easier to carry on than to face the reality of what had just happened, so it ended up being a fairly lengthy make out session before they finally came up for air. Spike broke the tension first by turning to a camera with a middle finger raised, “Bet they weren’t expecting that!” he said triumphantly.

“Neither was I,” admitted Buffy, who was still reeling.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he suggested half-heartedly, and when she wrinkled her nose, “Oh, thank God. Wanna do it again?”


	16. Mischief Night

The front entrance to the Initiative, where Riley Finn headed half an hour after dark, was the most heavily guarded. Of course, the entrances to the Initiative weren’t signposted or easily accessible to the general public. Besides the one in Walsh’s office, there were also a couple in the dorms where the agents slept. The main entrance, however, was via one of several meeting rooms at the back of the library which could be hired out by students. The library booking system had been rigged to ensure it was never booked for more than half an hour at a time, to avoid any bottle necks for Initiative visitors whilst still maintaining the illusion of availability. As the area of the college with the second highest foot traffic, after the cafeteria, it made sense for large groups of people to enter the meeting room for lengthy periods of time, making it an obvious choice. 

With an empty bottle of whiskey in hand (Giles had poured its contents into an expensive-looking crystal decanter) Riley felt ill at ease with the task he had been set. Not least because he was not the sort of guy who would usually kick his way through the entrance to a university library and run rampant between the stacks yelling, “Forrest! Agent Gates! Agent Miller? Surprise, it’s your boy!” and various equally humiliating things that a drunk ex-employee might shout to get the attention of their ex-colleagues in a pathetic act of desperation. The point was not to enter the meeting room, but to draw as many soldiers as possible into a game of follow the leader. Before he had embarked on his mission of mayhem, Riley had pulled out a pager and keyed in “Go time.” 

***

Earlier in the day, Tara and Willow had paid a visit to the frat house on campus most notorious for their legendary pranks and general douche-baggery, Kappa Gamma Gamma. It was a building the girls had previously avoided at all costs, and by the time they had received their fourth cat call, they remembered why. The leader of this little pack of douche-bros was a guy who went by the name of Thread, in reference to the dean who was constantly telling him his college career was hanging by one. 

Willow had cornered Thread in the cafeteria at lunchtime, so he had been expecting their visit. Nevertheless, his dorm room had certainly not been prepared for their arrival. After knocking on a door which was so heavily hung with pennants and posters that the original wood beneath was no longer visible, they’d heard a, “Hey” from inside which they had taken to mean, “Come on in.” Willow cringed slightly as she pushed the door open to find her path hindered by beer cans and other party ephemera which were strewn across the floor. Picking their way through the minefield of untidiness, whilst simultaneously trying to appear as though they had not noticed it, the girls were invited with a large sweep of Thread’s arm to sit on the bed opposite his. 

His bed was covered in books, papers and an open pizza box with a fifth of a pizza still inside. It looked slightly worse for wear, as though the cheese had congealed and shrunk back from the dough, and Willow decided it was best not to think about how many days old it was, as Thread, legs buried beneath the comforter and the mound of debris covering it, shook a slice free from the others, biting into it. It sounded kind of squeaky, as though it were simultaneously hard and extra chewy, and Tara raised her eyebrows in amusement, “What’s up, Thread?” she said, trying to sound casual as she resisted the temptation to laugh. 

“S’up,” he returned, “So are you two, like, girlfriends or something?” 

Willow was unsure why this question made her cheeks burn as Tara answered, “No, just getting to know each other, actually.” She was strangely pleased that Tara’s answer had been open to interpretation, but that overwhelming thought process would have to wait.

“Oh, that’s cool, just seeing where the vibe takes you, I dig that.” The guy was a caricature of college tomfoolery and Tara kinda loved it, she found these kinds of people fascinating and highly amusing. He sort of reminded her of her brother, if he’d lightened up and left home and found his own crew to hang out with instead of slowly beginning to fester into a carbon copy of their father, grumpy and mean. She snapped back from her drifting thoughts as Willow said, “Thread. We need some mischief, tonight, and we need it to be executed at a professional level. Now, I hear you’re the man for the task. Did I hear right?”

“You most certainly did,” said Thread, sitting up slightly in his interest and shaking loose a couple of stacks of paper, which separated into individual leaves as they drifted to the floor, “What’s in it for me?”

Willow held up a stack of cash then, two hundred dollars which Giles had given them, under the strict instruction that they never told him what kind of carnage he had sponsored, in an educational establishment no less. “I just don’t think I could bear to know,” he had said with a pained wince. Thread ran a hand slowly through his shoulder length, beachy sun-kissed waves, shaking several knots loose as he wiggled a path from just behind his ear to the back of his head, as though he were stroking a shaggy dog. As he did so, a smile was spreading across his face, “You chicks are all right!” he said, and Tara and Willow turned to smirk at each other then. 

They had provided him with a pager, some rough timings and some detailed instructions. He looked as honoured as if he had been told he had been awarded a full ride to Harvard. The girls found it quite charming. By the time they left, they were firm friends, and had somehow managed to promise they would attend his next kegger, if he survived the fallout of tonight’s plan, that was. He didn’t seem to care much one way or the other, only to promise them that he wouldn’t let them down. “Also,” Willow had said as he waved them off, having actually left his bed to see them out of the premises which they had found a rather touching gesture, “The first sign of trouble, we want you and your frat buddies out of there. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but there might be something really big going down tonight and we don’t want you in the middle of it. Just a little added chaos on the fringe would be just swell.”

“Got it, Red,” said Thread, “Hey! Our names rhyme. How neat is that?”

“Pretty neat,” said Willow, humouring him with a bemused expression before adding, “Good luck tonight. And if you see us on campus later? No, you didn’t.” He nodded as though he understood perfectly, raising a hand in salute. As they walked away, they had heard him bellow, “Buckle up, boys, we have a mission!” into the house.

***

Although Thread and the boys could be trusted to pull off some expert level mischief, Riley was the puzzle piece which was going to get the army’s attention in the first place. After all, it was none of their concern what students chose to get up to on campus, as long as it didn’t infringe on their work. As expected, he didn’t make it to the meeting room before Forrest and Graham showed up, flanked by at least 12 other agents who Riley knew by name only. He waved his empty in the air, “What’s up fellas, decided I was gonna throw myself a little leaving party, you comin’? Woah, you brought the whole gang along.” Riley was pleased they’d sent so many men, the more the better for this particular plan.

“Riley,” Forrest began, but Riley did not wait to hear what came next. He placed the bottle down, raised both hands and nodded as if in acknowledgement that he’d gone too far. 

“I’m sorry fellas,” he said, affecting a look of dawning realisation, “I don't know what I’m doing. I missed my flight back and I just got to thinking how much I was gonna miss all of you and then –“ As he talked, he had sidled close enough to the agents that he could snatch the ID tag from where it was clipped to Forrest’s belt, which he did mid-sentence, making off at a sprint through the stacks once more with his prize. He ignored shouts of, “Agent Finn, get back here,” as he heard the soldiers running after him. 

By the time he got back to the door he had kicked open on his way in, he could hear the distant sounds of chaos. He ran to the fountain, which was foaming from all the powdered soap that had been put into it. This wasn’t part of the plan, but Thread was clearly in the mood for mayhem tonight and had decided to get a little overtime in while he waited for Riley. “You must be Thread,” yelled Finn as he approached at a run, Thread joining him and running alongside as they headed for the gymnasium which was two buildings across, “love what you’ve done with the place.”

As if from nowhere, half a dozen frat boys armed with rolls of toilet paper ran behind Riley and Thread, throwing them up and watching them sail through the air, some unravelling on the floor and others tangling in trees and street lights. The purpose of this first wave of mischief makers was not to entirely obstruct the army boys, who had been hot on Riley’s heels, but to slow them down just enough that they didn’t catch up before they reached their destination.

As they neared the gymnasium, Thread whistled and behind Riley the revellers melted back, leaving a clear path for the soldiers to get at them. The doors to the gymnasium were thrown wide by a couple of boys who were waiting inside and as they ran in, Thread spirited himself away behind the doors, going unnoticed as Forrest and his team charged towards their ex-agent, who was now bolting for the back entrance, which was also open. As he neared the finish line, it was his turn to whistle, alerting Thread’s guys on the outside that it was time. As he passed through, the back doors were thrown shut behind him, the ones at the front having been closed as soon as the soldiers had followed him in. Both doors had been locked from the outside using stolen keys which had been acquired earlier in the day from a janitor’s chain, and bolted, but now two teams of strong college boys were hauling large planters in front of them to seal the soldiers inside. 

The atmosphere amongst the college boys was delirious, and as they ran off to distance themselves from the drama, planning to celebrate with the kegs their two hundred dollar pay check had bought them, Thread stopped to talk to Riley. “Whoa, what a night. What frat did you say those guys were from?”

“It’s not important,” Riley said, “Thanks man, you guys pulled off something pretty special tonight.”

“Yeah, they’re not gonna make it to their costume party any time soon,” said Thread, who was under the impression that tonight’s action was the result of some longstanding beef between fraternities.

“Let’s hope not,” said Riley, “Listen, you’d better head off, it’s best if you’re not seen around here for the rest of the night.”

“You don’t gotta tell me twice. Sure you don’t wanna join us?”

“I’d love to but I’m pretty sure I got the biggest target on my head of the bunch of us,” said Riley, “We didn’t quite catch all of them. See ya, man.” He raised a hand in goodbye as he jogged off in the direction of another of the entrances, where he might be able to keep an eye on the action. There were dampened yells coming from the inside of the gymnasium, but none of the soldiers had come armed to deal with their sad, drunk buddy, and they were stuck. Thread held up a peace sign as he ran off whooping to catch up with his brothers in arms. 

Riley hoped the others had made it in OK. He checked his pager to see if he had any news, the lack of which merely indicated that they hadn’t been turned away. It was unlikely they’d be paging him if they’d made it in successfully, and even less likely if they’d been caught. He and Kate between them had estimated the Initiative staff to be comprised of about fifty soldiers, three higher-ups and a handful of doctors on any given shift, so the fourteen or so currently trapped in the gymnasium was not an insignificant win, at least. As for the rest, he would have to wait and see.

***


	17. Go Time

When Riley had sent his “Go time” page, it had pinged not only to Thread, who was now enjoying the fruits of his labour very noisily back at the frat house, but also to the Scoobies and Kate, who had steeled themselves for their big entrance and headed in. Their route in was one of four additional entrances. They had chosen the one closest to the front, as it was likely any additional personnel being called to the commotion Riley was intending to cause would be pulled from the nearest locations. As they expected, by the time Kate swiped her card, stepping forward to allow the scanner to recognise her, they stepped through to find only one guard stationed at the entrance rather than the usual two. This was a perfect moment for Xander to assert authority and he scolded the soldier as the others walked through, Willow and Tara carrying the ladder between them and Xander himself holding one of Harmony’s arms, which were cuffed behind her back, Anya holding the other. Harmony was wriggling uncooperatively, which unintentionally created the impression that she was indeed their hostage. 

“Soldier, where is your brother guard?” said Xander with a disapproving stare.

The agent stood, “Entrance A had some sort of emergency, the alarms were triggered.”

“You’d better go and see what it is,” said Xander, “we’ll watch this door.” The soldier looked relieved to be released to get in on the action and took off at a run with a nod to Xander. Kate led them in the opposite direction, careful to set a pace that was slightly slower than usual, pointing out various features of the building as they made their way through. They walked along a metal walkway which surrounded a large central command room. Several soldiers were down there and there was a steady buzz of activity, some moving heavy boxes towards a narrow glass door which was being held open, some manoeuvring small vehicles along the concrete floor and others still manning computer stations, typing furiously with headsets on.

“There are more computers in some of the office rooms,” explained Kate, and they understood that one such space would be their next destination. As they walked down a long corridor, a middle-aged man in a white coat nodded to Kate, “Good evening Dr McGowan, I didn’t think you were on shift.”

“Dr Taylor,” she responded smoothly, “Meet Dr Werner from the Institute of Sub-terrestrial Research in Dortmund. He’s here to audit some of our processes, as well as bringing along a specimen of his own for us to take a look at.” She indicated briefly to the gang behind her, who kept their eyes lowered. Dr Taylor paid them little mind, other than to look Harmony over briefly before turning his attentions to Giles, “Dr Werner,” he said, “Great to have you.” They shook hands and Giles adopted a very slight German twang to his voice as he replied, “The pleasure is all mine. Dr McGowan has shown me some of your facility and I am already most impressed with what I have seen. I look forward to auditing the rest of your team once I have finished my work with Kate here.”

Dr Taylor looked a little ruffled by this news, eyes flashing briefly to Kate who explained coolly, “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, just seeing all our paper trails are in order, that sort of thing. Are there any other doctors in the building tonight?”

“Just Dr Asher,” replied Taylor, who looked a little panicked at the news of his paperwork being inspected.

“Ah, very well, perhaps you would pass the news along to her as well,” Kate replied, “Give her the heads up so she can gather her resources.” 

Dr Taylor nodded curtly, “Dr McGowan. Dr Werner,” and made off at a slightly increased pace. 

“I must say, that was rather delightful,” said Kate with a small smile to Rupert as she led them onwards through a maze of corridors, stopping at a room with several computers and only two occupants. Kate indicated that they should hang back a moment. Willow and Tara leant the ladder up against a wall as per the plan and they heard Kate asking the agents within if they would please come and move it back to wherever it belonged, and that another agent was on the way to monitor the security systems. Giles thought it rather a drawback of the hierarchy, in places such as these, that the underlings had been trained never to question authority. He held back a smile as he thought of how Buffy had no such qualms. He knew she was close now and realised how much he was missing her already after only a few days.

The gang stood to one side as the agents came out, apologising for the inconvenience of the ladder to Giles and Kate, who nodded sternly in response, and the soldiers hurried off on their goose chase to find its non-existent home. As Tara and Willow slipped inside, Kate handed them her briefcase, which was full of the girls’ notes to help them pull off their magic/computer-hacking hybrid. Willow opened it, pulling out a sign which they’d printed at Giles’ which read, “Urgent repair works being carried out, DO NOT DISTURB UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES” and affixing it to the door with sticky putty from her pocket. The witches would be sealing themselves in magically but they felt it was better that the door wasn’t tried in the first place, if possible, so its being locked shut wouldn’t be questioned. They set to work as the others walked on.

This was the part where the planning had become a little unclear. The “try to look busy” stage. There was nothing of much use they could do, other than try to keep a low, or at least believable, profile whilst the girls worked their magic on the computers to free the demons. This part alone had caused Xander some anxiety, he wasn’t too keen to release a bunch of hell monsters onto themselves if they could help it, but he had kept his opinions to himself. Anya could get really tetchy when he made what she called “snap judgements” about demons. They had decided against going straight to Buffy, which of course was their first instinct. It was too conspicuous. In the end, Kate had chosen an empty lab with a door at both ends, in case they had to escape any visitors, and they made their way there to wait.

***

In their cell, Spike and Buffy were in high spirits, talking about their past scuffles. After exhausting all other avenues, Spike had begun to fondly reminisce about the day him and Dru had taken Angel hostage. The mention of his ex-girlfriend had brought her dream from a few nights ago sharply and uncomfortably into focus. She’d been doing a good job of trying to keep it out of her head but now the image of Dru dressed in pool attendant garb with a towel thrown over her arm swam to the forefront. The night of Angel’s kidnapping had not been as enjoyable for her as it apparently had been for Spike, up until the moment of triumph, where he had ended up crushed beneath a church organ and then out of action for weeks, being taunted by a cocky Angelus laying his mucky paws all over his missus while he was confined to his wheelchair. “Good fun though,” Spike said, “You always put up a good fight.”

“I think our ideas of fun are on different levels.”

“Do you now,” asked Spike, smirking in a way that gave the impression he knew more than she did, “Tell me Slayer, what is it that gets your blood pumping?”

She heard the echo of dream-Drusilla, “Nobody quickens your pulse quite like he does.”

Spike, with his infuriating ability to pick up every minor cue, pointed a finger at her, “You’re blushing! Dirty girl, Slayer, my my. I ask you what gets your blood pumping and your mind goes straight in the gutter.” He was revelling in the moment, and Buffy’s flush intensified as she realised the truth was even worse than what he thought she was thinking about. 

“Demons,” she answered. At least it was half truthful, Spike fitting firmly into that category. “Fighting demons. You’re right, it is fun.”

He wasn’t going to let it go that easily, “And what is it you’re doing with demons that makes you blush, might I ask?”

“Drop it, Spike,” she said, knowing it was futile. They were lounging on the floor side by side, legs outstretched and each propped up on a hand. Without warning, Spike pulled her arm forwards, gently enough that his collar didn’t fire, to Buffy’s annoyance. It would have made a nice distraction. Instead, he turned her wrist to face the ceiling, placing two fingers on the veins closest to her hand and shushing her. It was like having her most shameful secret on show, she felt as though he was reading her mind, hearing Drusilla’s words as they whirled around it. She tried to keep her breathing steady, even as the touch of his fingers sent a thrill of excitement through her chest. He continued to hold her wrist, looking up to meet her gaze and staring at her intently, wrong footing her even further.

“Well then, Buffy,” said Spike with a smile, moving from her pulse point, grazing cool fingers upwards along her arm, stopping where she’d bunched the sleeves of her sweatshirt, “I think it might be my turn to blush now.” Far from looking shy, he was totally at ease. In his element. Spike loved to be the one with the power, and the knowledge that the slayer’s heart pumped faster around him was so delightful he would have bathed in it if he could. She was sure there was no merit in playing dumb but she answered, “Oh yeah, and why would that be?”

“Easy,” he replied, “First you kiss me and now you tell me I’m your idea of fun.”

“I so did not say that.”

“Well, not out loud but,” he traced the fingers back to their starting point then, tapping her wrist and fixing her with a stare, “we both know.”

She decided to go with it. She wasn’t sure if this was cabin fever, or perhaps there was something in the water, but she challenged him, “So what, Spike? What are you gonna do about it?”

They had already made out once today, and this time felt just as exciting, shook her belief system just as firmly. She had never had a crush on Angel when he’d been without his soul, why Spike? The questions left her brain as it was flooded with the excitement of him leaning over to kiss her deeply, passionately, on the lips. His fingertips somehow made it to the top of her thigh and the anticipation of what might happen next cleared her mind of all other thoughts entirely. Spike was feeling very much the same sensation from the act of putting his hand there. He was overwhelmed with the desire to be properly alone with her, anywhere but here. He wasn’t usually averse to public displays of affection but he didn’t want some GI Joe getting his rocks off watching this. He felt as though he wanted to keep her all to himself and thought to himself, “You really are a soft git.”

By the time the kissing ended, they were semi-entwined on the floor, hands all over each other. “It’s funny,” mused Spike, gently grabbing the inside of her sweatpant-covered thigh, and thinking how he was probably destined to forever have a thing for female inmates after this, “I had a dream the other day where I was holding your legs just like this, only we weren’t in a cell, we were in a –”

“Pool,” Buffy finished, dumbstruck.

Spike looked properly rattled by this four-letter word, followed by amusement as he realised what it would mean for the pair of them in terms of shared carnal knowledge, “Oh, don’t tell me you had the same bloody dream, with the white bikini and the –”

His words were curtailed by the loud click of the lock of their door clicking open and swinging gently ajar.

***


	18. When Worlds Collide

By the time the witches had worked their magic on the computer system, which turned out to be more hacking than witchery, things had already got pretty hairy for the rest of the Scoobies. Somehow or other, the soldiers in the gym had escaped, alerting the troops to the fact that something was up. It was protocol for security to do a sweep of the building in such instances, checking everyone’s credentials were in order. Alarms and sirens were reserved for serious problems only and by the sounds of things, this had been a college prank gone way too far, but Walsh’s suspicions were roused by Riley’s involvement and she had also sent a crew out to go and search campus.

They’d found Riley watching an entrance from a distance and brought him in. He was no match in a six to one fight and had found himself in a cell which was usually for soldiers who’d had one too many on a night out and needed sobering up. Once they slammed the door on him, without a word, he sat there waiting for his moment, knowing the doors would be opening soon enough if everything went to plan. Being caught had not been part of their planning session, but this worked out well for Riley. He figured an extra pair of hands for the Scoobies wouldn’t go down too badly when the time came, although he knew the consequences for him might be worse if they didn’t make it out.

When the lanky security guard had entered the lab to find Kate, Giles, Xander and Anya, chatting away pleasantly with an HST in handcuffs, Anya’s response had been a very apt, “Oh, crap.” Of course, they had no ID and a fight was inevitable. Anya unshackled Harmony’s wrists, her being the most obviously dangerous of the bunch. Harmony reluctantly slid into game face, feeling as though she had already had a long couple of days and would really prefer someone to bring her something already-dead rather than killing it herself, walking towards the guard with an unenthusiastic, “I’m going to get you.” Her lacklustre threat seemed to do the trick and the guard looked from vampire to doctors to soldiers trying to calculate the nature of what exactly was going on, but deciding instead to run for help. 

“Well then,” said Giles calmly, discarding his white coat and throwing it over a high stool, “I believe that would be our cue to depart.” At that moment, sirens began to blare outside and he added, “Oh good, I think we can safely assume that those awful sounds indicate the release of the demons.” At this, weapons were drawn from various hiding places on the Scoobies’ bodies. There was no longer any need to fly under the radar. “Here goes nothin’” said Xander, “At least we know Buffy’s out now.”

“Yes,” said Kate, “Just the small matter of all of us escaping.”

“Piece of cake,” said Xander, sounding more confident than he felt. 

In the computer suite, the witches were debating a course of action following their unlocking of all the doors, other than the one to their own hiding place, which was magically locked and which now had a gaggle of soldiers bearing down on it. Busted. Although they couldn’t get in easily via the magically sealed entrance, the girls reasoned there was nothing to stop the army coming back with something to blow the door off its hinges, and decided it was better to magically remove the soldiers from their path, unlock the door and get out there with the rest of them. As they were beginning the incantation which they had flicked urgently through their books to find, one of the soldiers outside hollered in surprise as a demon ploughed into him, sending the other agents running in the opposite direction.

“Well, I suppose that works, too,” said Tara with a grin.

Willow muttered the spell to release the door lock before turning back to her fellow witch, “I guess this is it, left or right?”

“Right,” said Tara, taking Willow’s hand and giving it a squeeze before throwing the door wide. They ran out to join the fray.

Elsewhere, Buffy and Spike were having a whale of a time. They’d taken out a handful of agents who had tried to stop them leaving the cell, both relieved to note that they had no issue causing harm to anyone but each other. “That daft cow,” Spike had said casually as they ran along another generic corridor, finally happening upon an elevator and pressing the button for the upper level, “If she hadn’t been so keen on treating us like naughty dogs she might have had the bleeding foresight to stop us being able to harm her bloody staff. That’s what you get for being cocky.”

“You would know,” said Buffy with a smirk, and Spike grabbed her, kissing her firmly before pulling back to call her a “cheeky bint.” It was her turn to grab him now, kissing him with the exhilaration of freedom ringing in her ears along with the multitude of shrill repetitive alarms and sirens as the elevator carried them upwards. As the doors opened to reveal the central command centre spread out before them, a half-level below from the walkway ahead, Buffy heard a familiar voice and broke away from Spike’s lips. It was Willow and Tara, the former gaping at the freak show that had just unravelled before her eyes.

“Buffy, what did they do to you?!” Willow said, an expression on her face as though she had just put her hand in dog shit. Tara was smirking, “I take it this is Spike?” she said to Willow, who nodded, jaw open. 

“Nice to see you too, Will,” said Buffy, launching herself from the elevator to kick a soldier who had been approaching unseen from her best friend’s side. “Might wanna forget whatever it is you think you just saw and pay attention,” she suggested, and Willow nodded robotically, stunned. “On second thought, maybe you two should stay with us,” she said, raising a hand to Tara who she half-recognised as being one of Willow’s new witchy friends. Spike and Buffy led the charge towards the chaos of the command room, climbing at speed down a chunky steel ladder to join the carnage below.

The Initiative had descended quickly into chaos and Xander and Anya were unsure how exactly they had come to be in the one of the small golf buggy-type vehicles that the soldiers used to transport each other around the base. Anya whooped from the passenger’s seat as Xander weaved between increasingly muddled scenes. Everywhere they turned, there were clusters of demons fighting soldiers and at one point, Anya watched transfixed as a soldier had his head torn clean off his shoulders by a large, scaly green demon with huge webbed hands. “Cool!” she exclaimed, thinking it was probably for the best that Xander hadn’t seen. As she turned back to him, the look of horror on his face told a different story, “Oh, you saw that, huh?”

“Pretty much,” gulped Xander, screeching the brakes on the buggy then and shouting, “Buffy! It’s Buffy!” They disembarked, running towards the biggest fight, where Spike and Buffy, wearing some sort of matching plastic collars were deftly taking it in turns to KO the soldiers. Spike was in vampire face and Xander saw him sidestep to put himself between Buffy and an approaching vampire at one point, kicking her legs out from underneath her before she could reach the slayer. He was confused. He had heard that the two had joined forces but seeing it in action was possibly more bizarre than watching the guy being manually decapitated had been. This, he thought, would stick with him as the more unsettling image. Harmony, who had gone off on her own looking for Spike and now found herself behind Xander, had watched this exchange equally horrified, running forward to take issue with it.

“Blondie Bear!” she yelled accusingly, “You just took that vamp out to save the slayer.”

The group they had been fighting were all out cold now and Spike turned with revulsion to face his ex-girlfriend, “Oh bugger off, Harm,” he said, “As if being locked up in here wasn’t bad enough, you’ve come all the way here to give me a hard time too?”

Harmony looked moments away from foaming at the mouth, turning to Buffy to point a finger, “You! Every time my Blondie Bear gets himself in danger, it’s always you.”

Buffy yawned theatrically, raising a hand to her mouth and turning to Spike, “Does she ever shut up?”

“Rarely,” Spike lamented.

Hackles fully raised now, Harmony pulled a knife from a holster at her ankle, which had been hidden by the raspberry boot cut snakeskin pants she was wearing. Buffy noted, impressed, that she was wearing four-inch heels. “Credit where it’s due,” she thought approvingly, “The girl has style.”

Buffy pulled her own stake from the waistband of her sweatpants, feeling extra-irritated at being out-fashioned by the school bully who was about to take her on. In the interests of politeness, she gestured to Harmony with a hand and asked Spike, “May I?”

“Oh, please, be my guest.” Spike looked delighted, an arrogant grin causing his eyes to twinkle evilly.

Buffy jammed the stake effortlessly through the baby pink crop top into Harmony’s chest, where she disappeared in a pile of dust. “It’s a shame,” said Buffy in after thought, “that outfit was really cute. She wasn’t afraid to take a fashion risk.”

“God that was sexy,” said Spike, looking at Buffy with admiration burning in his eyes, “Remind me to thank you properly for that later.”

Buffy, aware that her friends were nearby, blushed. “Don’t mention it.”

“Hey Buffster,” said Xander, grinning when Buffy ran to hug him, bracing himself so she didn’t inadvertently knock him over with her slayer strength, the next part of his sentence slightly breathless, “nice to see you too. I think it’s best if we finish this up and get out, in case they call for any backup. I’ll round the others up and meet you back here, you two carry on doing what you’re doing.” He gestured a hand in a circular motion towards the out-cold soldiers on the floor, as Buffy made the link and realised where Xander’s confident organisation style had come from, “Absolutely, Agent Harris.” She saluted him with a wry smile and Xander grinned sheepishly, running off to collect the others.

“Hear that Buff, we’re almost out of here,” said Spike, “Better make the next ones count.” They seemed to have run out of soldiers, and Spike decided it was only polite to assist Buffy taking out the remainder of the demons. His bloodlust didn’t discriminate, after all. At one point, he noticed the keys in a golf cart and got in, ploughing down a motley crew of demons who appeared to have teamed up with each other, a huge grin on his face. As he stepped from his vehicle, he came face to face with Riley, making a face of disgust and shouting over the din, “Oh bloody hell, not you again, I thought they would have kicked you out after I told on you to your mom.”

“They did,” said Riley through gritted teeth, “And she’s not my mom.”

“Oh yeah? Then how come you were so desperate for her approval that you agreed to kidnap Goldilocks?” he said, hitting the nail on the head and causing a scowl to darken Riley’s face. Just then, Buffy noticed the two of them and ran up to assist Spike in what she assumed was the beginning of a fight, “Oh great,” she said, “Riley, if you’re trying to lock me up again, I’m warning you, it isn’t going to end well.”

“I kinda figured that,” said Riley, “Which is why I came here with your Scooby-Doo gang to try and fix my mistake.”

Spike’s lip curled cruelly then, “Bloody hell, you just get worse and worse. Should call you the simpering sergeant. Give up, she’s not interested.” He bared his fangs and growled threateningly.

“You’re on our team?” Buffy interjected, and Riley nodded. “Fine,” said Buffy, “It’s time to go.” She saw Xander approaching with the others and said to Riley, “You can show us the way out?” He nodded again. “OK.” She noticed one more piece of unfinished business out of the corner of her eye and added, “You go. Spike and I have one more thing to do, we’ll catch up.”

Riley looked reluctant to leave her with Spike, but Buffy’s face didn’t leave room for negotiation, so he ran to Xander and the gang, ushering them towards a ladder as Spike followed Buffy in another direction. “Now, technically, I’m not supposed to harm humans unless absolutely necessary,” said Buffy, as she pointed to the objects of her ire, “but perhaps you’ll do me a little favour and help me bend the rules.” Spike smirked in understanding, impressed and turned on by the slayer’s mean streak. “No killing though,” said Buffy, and Spike decided now was not the time to bring up any difficulties in their blossoming romance. He winked at her, raised an eyebrow and swaggered over to Dr Asher and Maggie Walsh, who were half hidden behind a command station.

“Ladies,” he said, both of them standing stock still in alarm, “We’d best be off now, but just wanted to give you a little parting gift from me and the slayer to thank you for the hospitality.” He charged for them, hands outstretched, and grabbed each by the side of their head, knocking their skulls together with a loud crack, whereupon they tumbled satisfyingly to the floor. He turned to Buffy, “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” she said with a grin, “Just the right amount of violence.” Spike was pleased with himself, thinking it was the least he could do to thank her for putting a stop to his never-ending on/off relationship with Harm once and for all. They took off at a run, catching up with Xander and the others. They didn’t encounter much resistance on the way out, the demons with half a brain cell had decided to make a run for it while the going was good, and the few soldiers who were still conscious had done the same, barricading themselves in various labs and offices around the Initiative to call for help. They didn’t know it yet, but the help would not be coming, The Initiative having been deemed too high-risk of a location to have additional troops deployed in the middle of the night. The official instructions were that they were on their own, and any such breaches were to be dealt with in-house. The Scoobies, however, had no such information, and were relieved when Riley produced a set of keys he had swiped from an agent, opening a huge black SUV which they all piled into, Spike included, Riley speeding off in the direction of Giles’ apartment.


	19. So Long, Riley Finn

Giles, Xander and Willow were extremely perturbed to be sat around a table with Spike. They weren’t too happy about Riley’s presence, either. Kate, who was fascinated by demons, didn’t mind Spike so much, and Anya, who didn’t really mind anything, was just glad to be wearing her own clothes again. Spike and Buffy were sat on dining chairs next to one another and Buffy was painfully aware that she was being silently judged for her choice of seating position. She felt as though her and Spike’s strange new connection was written all over her face, a feeling which was made worse by the fact of having been caught in the act by Willow and Tara. Willow, who had made an attempt to pull Buffy to one side, had been interrupted by Giles and Kate choosing to ask the ex-prisoners about their newly-added collars.

“Well, we’ve been reliably informed they haven’t got tracking devices in them,” said Buffy, “Since that Dr Asher was planning on letting us rot in there.”

“She’s a horrible woman,” said Kate.

“You noticed that too?” smirked Buffy.

“So, if they’re not trackers, what are they?” asked Giles, waving away the comments regarding Dr Asher.

“Watch,” said Spike, raising a hand to hit Buffy on the back of the head, and promptly falling off his chair to the ground with a yowl of pain. Buffy looked down at him in disbelief, “You know, we could have just told them.”

“Quicker,” shrugged Spike, getting to his feet and returning to his chair.

“What, so Spike can’t hurt us?” said Xander, looking excited at the prospect.

“Don’t get any ideas,” snarled Spike, fixing Xander with a cold stare, “It’s only each other we can’t hurt.”

“Well, that’s settled,” said Xander, “The collar stays. We like the collar.”

“Not so fast, Sunshine,” Spike continued, “Because Buffy here can’t kill me either, and the two of us have an appointment to keep.”

“What sort of appointment?” said Tara, intrigued.

“Duel to the death,” said Spike, matter of factly, and Buffy nodded.

“Besides,” added Buffy, “We don’t know if these things have a shelf life, and hello? Not big on the fashion.” She had now changed into some of her own clothes, which Willow had had the good sense to bring over from the dorm, and was feeling much more herself in a strappy white top, soft grey cardigan and bootcut jeans. The feeling of being in her own clothes was slightly marred by the collar, “I would kinda like to have a week-long shower right about now and I’m pretty sure water and electricity don’t mix so well.”

“Go on,” said Spike cheekily, “Try it out and see!”

Buffy turned and slapped him playfully on the shoulder without thinking, instantly regretting her decision as she shrieked in pain, a massive zap of electricity coursing along her spine. Spike, who had seen it coming, reached out a hand to steady her so she didn’t fall to the floor, and Xander watched with a look of total disbelief on his face as the vampire who had just threatened to kill his friend stopped her from toppling out of her chair. Willow, who had also noticed, thought it was kinda sweet and then instantly reminded herself of who Spike was and felt overcome with confusion. Giles had enjoyed watching Spike receive his jolt, but had found Buffy’s subsequent shock upsetting, and said, “I’ve got an idea. Why not remove Buffy’s collar at once and Spike can just get out of my house?”

Spike stood up, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically, “Bloody hell Rupert, where’s your humanity?”

“You’re not a human,” pointed out Anya sensibly, and Spike stuck his tongue out at her moodily. Buffy, who would really have preferred not to disclose her feelings on the situation stood too and said, “Guys, Spike was helping me out in there, we can’t just leave him like this, it’s not fair.”

“What, so we take it off and just let him kill you?” said Xander in disbelief.

“OK, first off, who said anything about letting him kill me? Clearly if it comes down to it, I will throw him under the nearest train and stake the remains.” Spike smiled at her and Buffy caught it out of the corner of her eye, resisting the urge to smile in return. Thinking back to what Spike had said to Tom on her first day in the Initiative, she added, “Besides, it’s the natural order. Livens things up a bit.” 

Spike really did grin then, “Now you’re talking!”

Giles, who felt as though Buffy had gone completely mad, but who didn’t blame her for taking leave of her senses, keeping in mind her recent circumstances said, “If that’s what you want, Buffy.”

“It is.”

“Very well. Kate, I suppose you know something about these collars?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Kate, “But I think the main issue is going to be disabling the electronics before removal. After that, I think it would be safe to just cut them off.”

“Got it,” said Willow, who was also struggling to wrap her head round Buffy’s insistence on Spike’s release, but was pleased to at least know something about how to help her friend, “Tara and I have a spell that can remove an object’s power, should do the trick. We’ll need to test it first. Might take us an hour or so to practice, it’s a tricky one.”

“In which case,” said Spike, turning to Buffy, “Can we get out of here? Captain Cardboard’s been giving me side eye and I think if I stay here any longer, I’m gonna have to pop him one, which I don’t think is gonna go down too well considering I’m expecting to be cut out of this bleeding dog collar by Red here in a little while.”

“We?” scoffed Xander, “Why would anybody be going with you?”

Buffy piped up then, “Sounds good. Giles, Spike and I are going out for a bit. Will, we’ll be back in a couple of hours for this spell?” Willow nodded with an expression belying her disbelief that Buffy was leaving with Spike of her own volition.

“It’s past midnight,” said Xander, “What are you two gonna do?” Spike’s tongue curled crudely behind his teeth and his eyes flashed mischievously. Xander regretted his question.

“Good point,” said Buffy, “I’ll probably just go back to my mom’s and sleep, she’s not back from New York for a few more days, thank God. I don’t even know how to explain this one to her, she would freak majorly.” She pointed to her collar, “can we deal with this in the morning?”

“Yes, of course,” said Giles, “I should have thought you would need some sleep. It’s probably best if we all head off and get some rest after the evening we’ve had.”

“Wanna stay at mine?” said Tara to Willow, “So we can practice the spell?”

Willow turned to Buffy, “Will you be OK at your mom’s on your own? I could come with you if you like.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Buffy, thinking she would not be on her own if things went the way she thought, “You go with Tara.” She smiled at the new witch, who beamed back at her. Buffy thought she seemed a nice girl.

“I’d better get going too,” said Riley, “probably best I get out of town sooner rather than later.” He cast a sheepish look in Buffy’s direction, and realising it was highly unlikely he would be granted any alone time with her, decided he would have to deliver his apology in front of the gang, “Buffy, I can’t make up for what I did bringing you into the Initiative, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” said Buffy genuinely, but fleetingly, as she grabbed Spike’s arm and pulled him through the door, “So long, Riley Finn.” Riley watched her go, wondering how he had failed to notice a good thing when he saw one, and let a girl like Buffy Summers slip through his fingers. Tara noticed him looking sad and felt sorry for him, patting him gently on the back.

“Yes, off you go. All the best,” said Giles unceremoniously, and Riley nodded in solemn understanding before departing, key in hand, towards the borrowed US Army SUV.

As Spike had been the one to invite her to leave Giles’, she supposed she shouldn’t feel as embarrassed as she did to ask her next question, but the nervous prickle in her chest rose despite this. She was uncomfortably reminded of the way she used to feel when Angel would show up at the Bronze unannounced, and leave just as quickly. It was too weird to think about what the similarities meant, and weirder still to find that this was the first time she’d wondered what Angel’s response would be.

“You’re awfully quiet for a newly released vampire slayer,” said Spike.

“I was wondering what Angel would think of all this.”

Spike stiffened and Buffy regretted her words instantly, “Why’d you have to bring up that prick?”

“I don't know,” she replied.

“Liar.”

“OK I do know, but I don’t want to tell you.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, quickening his pace and heading in the direction of the cemetery.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Home. Same as you.” He sounded sulky, and Buffy wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by shutting him out, and then wondered again if she’d gone totally nutty, worrying about Spike’s feelings.

“Walk me home first?” she asked. An olive branch.

“Why, scared you lost your touch in chokey?”

She said the next words quickly this time, before they got stuck in her mouth with the ones about what Angel would think, “Scared I might miss you.” Her eyes widened in realisation at what she’d said. It was indelible, no take backs. He smiled slightly and hung back a couple of steps so they could walk alongside one another. He gestured in the direction of Revello Drive and Buffy took it to mean he would walk her back after all. She felt aware of the breeze on the back of her neck, on high alert not for demons and baddies, but for any slight move of affection that might come her way from her partner in crime.

“You know,” said Spike, winning an internal struggle to do the sensible thing rather than the fun one, and laying his cards on the table, “if you let me walk you home, I’m gonna have to snog you.”

Buffy smiled, “I think I can handle it. I kissed you first, remember?”

He took a breath and pressed on, “What I mean is, if I snog you out here, in the real world, this stops being some cabin fever fantasy where we turn to each other for comfort in our hour of need.”

Buffy felt the conversation sliding somewhere serious. The tension thickened in her chest and made it hard to speak, “So, what are you saying?”

Spike stopped and Buffy followed suit. He looked at her so directly she wished she could turn and run in the opposite direction, but she knew she needed to listen. “I’m saying, just because you and I have found out that we have sodding good chemistry,” he winked then, which eased Buffy’s discomfort slightly, before ploughing on, “It doesn’t make me any less evil, and it doesn’t make you any less of a vampire slayer.”

“You didn’t kill Asher and Walsh,” said Buffy, simply.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If you were as evil as you think you are, you would have killed them. If I wasn’t there, what would you have done?”

“I would have pulled Walsh apart piece by piece like an old TV and made Asher watch, so she knew what she was in for before I did the same to her, but slower.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose at the description, “Exactly, but you didn’t.”

“But me not killing those stupid cows doesn’t stop the fact that the next time I get hungry, I’m gonna go out hunting and find a nice little human to snack on. It’s what I do.”

Half of Buffy wanted to tell him that it was the natural order, and the other knew that she could not be so nonchalant when it came to a human life. “Angel used to drink blood from the blood bank,” she said, “Or from the butcher.”

“And since when do I give a toss what Angel does? Seem to be bringing him up a lot this evening. Any great significance there? Could it be perhaps that you’re missing your first vampire boyfriend and muggins here comes along and starts looking like a pretty good substitute?” The words stung like Spike had intended them to. He’d been working this little thought over and over like a piece of clay at the back of his mind for the past few days. He didn’t want to be the next best thing to that bird brained pillock. When he thought about what he did want to be, his mind played tricks on him. Told him he could drink blood from the butchers, and from the blood bank, or hang around at the old folks’ home and take the ones that were already past their expiration date. Buffy spoke her next words quietly and Spike felt guilty knowing he was the cause of her upset.

“Actually, I had just realised that this was the first time in a long time that I didn’t miss him,” she said, eyes stinging with tears she would not let come to the surface. Typical her, to realise she liked a guy just as he was reminding her that he was a serial murderer. “Yeah, well,” said Spike, gently scuffing a boot, which was half-buckled shut but still missing its laces, against the sidewalk as he tried to decide what to say. Experience taught him it was better to ger things out in the open, and lust told him to kiss her. Words would not come and so he carried on walking, still in the direction of Revello. “Maybe we don’t have to figure it out right away,” said Buffy, “We’re getting these things off tomorrow, we might kill each other before we have to figure out the hard bit.”

“Yeah,” smiled Spike weakly, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze as they walked back towards her mom’s empty house in silence. It was a sad smile though, and Buffy knew that neither of them thought that a viable option any longer. By the time they were about to turn into Revello Drive, Buffy had decided Spike was right. If he came to the door, she knew what would happen, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to face the consequences. Instead, she said, “I’m OK to walk from here, thanks for the company.” Spike nodded in understanding and Buffy felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t what she had wanted to say. As they parted ways, they both felt ten times more hopeless than they had done in their cells at the Initiative.


	20. Electricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!

Spike kicked over an empty umbrella stand when he stomped through the door of the crypt. He wasn’t sure how it got there as he didn’t own any umbrellas, but perhaps it had belonged to Harmony. He had intended to stop off for a kill on the way back but he’d decided to go straight home and raid his fridge supply instead. He told himself it was because he couldn’t be bothered. He told himself it was because his collar was too cumbersome for hunting and would throw him off his game, him being the sort of vampire who liked to flirt with his prey before he ate it. He told himself he was nothing like Angel. Nevertheless, when a knock came at his door, he was glad to be distracted from his thoughts for a time. 

He had showered from the waist down and done the rest with a wash cloth, not too keen to get another taste of the zapper before its removal the next day. It was not the short, sharp shock of a cattle prod, harsh but something you could get used to, it was more akin to someone running your exposed spinal cord between their fingers very quickly, like one might do to remove the leaves from a long flower stem. In fresh black jeans and hair product finally returned to its usual levels, he knew he was looking good. Having no reflection, Spike had learned it was best to stick to variations of the same look for ease. He hadn’t repainted his nails yet, as there was still some polish clinging on for dear life. He thought it looked better chipped, anyway.

He wasn’t sure who his visitor would be, but he was glad it at least wouldn’t be Harmony. The slayer had seen to that for him. He wondered if it were a once in an un-life opportunity, watching the girl you fancied killing the ex that you couldn’t seem to shake. He made his way to the door half-expecting it to be his mate Clem, who might’ve got wind of his return. Clem was on the softer side as demons went, and him and Spike made an unlikely pair. It was their love of gambling that had brought them together at first but Spike had soon come to learn that Clem’s big ears were all the better to pick up on gossip with, and he often seemed to have the latest news before anyone else. 

Having convinced himself he knew who the visitor was, he opened the door wide and his jaw nearly hit the floor to find it was not the demon who had come to see him, but the slayer. She’d obviously found a way around the showering situation as well and was looking absolutely breath-taking in a pale blue satin slip dress, cropped black leather jacket and bouncy, blow-dried hair. The white plastic collar threw off the balance somewhat, looking markedly more cumbersome in this get up than it had done in contrast to the grey sweats, but she was still a knock out. Ego smarting from their earlier conversation, which he was fully aware of having started himself but which he’d not expected her to get on board with so quickly, he swallowed his words of praise for her goddess-like appearance and instead said, “Forget something?”

Buffy, recognising his poor attempt to mope, stepped over the threshold without waiting for an invitation and started talking as though they hadn’t left each other. “So, you had a dream about me, huh? Exactly the same as mine?” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

His resolve dissipated in the face of her friendly conversation and he couldn’t help but join in. “Three headed demon,” he responded, “Oh and by the way you dusted me in that dream, not very sodding polite of you.”

“I did not! I didn’t even have a stake. And anyway, you were the one trying to attack me in your crypt. What happened to you when you got dusted?”

“Turned up outside Rupert’s right after and found you there by the telly. Why don’t you jog my memory, what happened next?” He licked the back of his top teeth lasciviously.

“Oh, you know, this and that.” She had flopped down onto his sofa and kicked off her dolly shoes, twirling a strand of hair around a finger as she spoke. He grabbed the outside of her thigh over the satin. It felt so sodding sexy he wanted to lift her dress straight over her head. “Something like this?” He was alone in his crypt with the slayer. The slayer. Remarkably sodding close to her undergarments and not a stake in sight. If it hadn’t been for the length of this week’s adventure, and all the very real electric shocks, he would have wondered if this were a continuation of his previous dream.

Buffy was feeling emboldened. The moment she’d walked through her mother’s front door, she had known she was already in too deep with Spike to pretend nothing had happened. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the details that needed ironing out were not minor creases but huge, engrained wrinkles. It would probably end in heart break, but she had thought about how what she’d had with Angel had ended in heartbreak too, and hadn’t been any less worthwhile. She had felt nervous and excited choosing an outfit and getting ready to go and see him, knowing it was highly possible he would have gone out on the hunt, and hoping she wasn’t too late. Now, here she was, with his hand on her leg, sending a ripple of excitement up towards her pussy, and she wasn’t sure how she had managed to leave him the first time round. 

“Something like that, yeah,” she responded, “Only I’m pretty sure we were on a bed.”

“That can be arranged,” said Spike with a wink, cock hardening in his boxers at her forwardness.

She flushed slightly as she said, “And there was the part in the pool, that was pretty good.”

“With the white bikini,” he said, deciding now was not the moment to interrogate why they’d had the same dream, but hoping it wasn’t a sodding premonition. He didn’t fancy a visit from Drusilla at this precise moment in time. “What colour are they today?” he asked, eyes flashing towards her crotch, where the satin of her dress had bunched slightly between her legs, leaving the hint of an outline of the V of her pussy. “Guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said, standing up. He thought for a moment she might be leaving again, until he saw her head towards the ladder which led to the lower level, and the bedroom, “You coming?” As she descended the ladder, Spike shook his head, impressed and disbelieving. How had he failed to realise all this time, that flirting with her was even more fun than fighting with her. 

He followed her down and found her standing by the large tree root which grew through from the cemetery above, “Never knew you were the gardening type,” he said, and Buffy pointed a finger at a large pull-out poster of a pop group from a glossy magazine which was pinned to it.

“That cheeky cow’s been squatting in my crypt!” Spike shouted, “I’ll kill her.”

“I’m guessing you’re referring to Harmony? I already did that, remember, stake through the heart?”

“So you did,” he agreed, “Did I mention how bloody sexy that was?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, eyes lighting up, “You told me to remind you to thank me later.”

“Oh yeah? Got anything in mind?” He loved this part of the chase. The game playing, the build-up. 

“There was one thing you seemed to be pretty good at in the dream,” said Buffy. She would never have been this forward with Angel, but she felt more comfortable expressing a sexual side of herself in front of Spike. After all, he’d been there in the dream as well, he’d already seen it all before. More to the point, she’d already seen all of him, and she was certain she would enjoy a close-up refresher. 

“Just the one thing?” he asked, ripping the poster down with his left hand and crumpling it into a ball, tossing it far away from him and Buffy as he wrapped his right around her waist and drew her in for a long kiss.

“Why don’t we start with that and see how it goes,” said Buffy, skin prickling with excitement as he motioned to her to take off her jacket, catching it as she shrugged it off and throwing it onto an armchair. 

“Did you wear that pretty little dress for me?” asked Spike, knowing the answer already and turning himself on just by saying it.

“Oh, you know, I thought the collar was just too sexy on its own, needed something to balance it out.”

“Daft cow,” he said.

Buffy felt as though the bed’s presence in the room were deafening. It was a super king with grey bedding, not a million miles away from the hotel bed in their dream, minus the chandeliers and the mountain of throw cushions. The journey from the living room to the bedroom had been about thirty steps, but from where they stood now to the mattress felt like the biggest one. As she began to fear that she was paralysed with anticipation, Spike, who knew exactly what she was thinking, knelt on the floor in front of her, removing the need. The sight of a vampire – one she had once been desperate to kill - kneeling before her, was as surreal as it was erotic. It was not an act of submission; Spike was taking control of the situation. She half-closed her eyes in pleasure as he ran his hands up her bare thighs, sliding the hem of her slip upwards. She swayed slightly as she waited for his next move, finding standing more difficult than it had been a moment ago. 

She wore a blue satin thong which almost matched her dress, a detail which drove Spike wild. The thought of her carefully selecting matching underwear in the knowledge that he might be seeing it was unbelievably sexy. He raised a hand, running one finger down the front of the fabric, tracing it lightly between her pussy lips and almost making her legs buckle. She was only a step away from the bed now and he hooked two fingers into the waistband of her thong, slipping it down past her hips where it fell down freshly shaved legs to the floor. She stepped out of it once it had fallen, the back of her legs making contact with the bed as she did so. She was relieved that she didn’t have to support herself fully anymore, as Spike moved forward, still on his knees to meet her, picking up her thong with a finger and lifting it up, “I liked the white bikini too, but this is better.”

Her slip had fallen again and he lifted it up, getting his first proper look at her, a freshly trimmed landing strip curling softly above her smoothly shaved pussy. It looked just like it had in the dream. He leaned in, licking a slow line upwards. Heaven. She let her upper body go, leaning backwards onto the mattress and spreading her legs instinctively. He held her thighs as he licked her clit, more divine than the blood of a thousand slayers. He could have stayed between her legs for a lifetime, her soft moans were intoxicating, but he wanted to see her face. He continued to lick her clit as he slid a finger into her pussy, drawing a more insistent moan from her. He pulled his finger out then, standing up and bringing it to her mouth where she sucked it without a second thought. 

“Fucking hell, Slayer. You never told me you were so filthy.”

“You never asked,” she said simply. They both laughed then, the notion of this conversation having happened at any other time being too ridiculous not to, and Spike joined Buffy on the bed. He was in no rush to reach the finish line, he felt almost as though this time when they both had collars on was golden. He would like to think they could trust each other when they got them removed but he was not naïve enough to ignore the alternatives. They were sat up, each propped on a stack of two pillows, side by side, and Spike traced a finger from just underneath her collar, down between her breasts, noticing she didn’t have a bra on. “Forget something?” he asked, repeating his greeting from earlier, now devoid of sarcasm.

“I didn’t have a blue one,” she explained, “Thought it would be a shame to mess with the theme.”

Spike curled his fingers, indicating for Buffy to come and sit astride him, which she did. Looking up at her he wondered if she had always been this beautiful. She was thinking similarly flattering thoughts about him, incidentally, and leaned down to kiss him as she shifted slightly, moving her bare pussy purposefully against the denim-clad bulge of his dick. He let out a low growl of desire, hands drawn magnetically to her hips. He held them for a moment, enjoying the sensation of her grinding before lifting her dress up. She raised her arms and finished the job, flinging it aside, totally uninhibited. He had expected she would be slower to warm up and now looked up at a totally naked Buffy, collar notwithstanding, in awe of her effortless sexiness.

Buffy herself felt exhilarated, totally nude atop a fully clothed once-evil vampire. Heck, maybe he still was, but that was tomorrow’s problem. All the angst of being trapped in the Initiative, the nagging feeling she had felt at her mom’s house after sending Spike away, that she had made the wrong choice, had melted and electricity of a far more pleasurable variety prickled her skin as she felt his eyes taking it all in. He looked as though all his Christmases had come at once and she felt beautiful and powerful in a way she hadn’t before. She was lost in the moment. Her tendency to overthink had vanished and in its place was pure instinct. After all, they’d already seen each other naked, already slept together in their twin dreams. She moved back, enjoying the look of frustration which flashed briefly across Spike’s face at no longer having her pussy grinding into his erection. It was replaced with one of ecstasy as she brought a hand up to replace it, rubbing his cock through the denim of his black jeans and feeling her pussy tingle as she did so.

She undid his flies then and he raised his hips slightly as she undid the zipper and pulled them down a little, along with his black Calvin Klein boxers, revealing a thick, hard, uncut cock. She dipped her mouth down, taking the head of his dick between her lips and swirling her tongue around it. His response of, “Holy fuck, Buffy,” let her know she was on the right track as she wrapped a hand around the base, stroking up and down as she savoured the act. When she reached a hand down to play with her own clit, too turned on to wait a moment longer, Spike thought he had died and gone to heaven. “Come and sit on my dick and do that,” he said and she obliged, straddling him once more and taking a hand to guide his cock into her wet pussy. 

They moaned in unison as she slid down the length of him, pausing a moment to take in the intense sensation of fullness before she started riding his dick, leaning forward to kiss him deeply and passionately before leaning back once more where she could finger her clit. Spike grabbed her hips, ramming her onto his dick with increasing intensity until she threw her head back, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He kept the rhythm of his thrusting, careful not to interrupt her orgasm as it crashed like a wave, her pussy gripping his dick deliciously. Once she was done, she dismounted, rolling onto her back and he knew it was his turn to be on top. They were an even match when fighting and an even match when fucking, anticipating each other’s needs easily.

He rubbed the tip of his cock lightly across her sensitive clit, a sharp intake of breath followed by a moan indicating that it was just the right amount of unbearable. He stroked his cock up and down her pussy lips a couple more times before pausing with his dick ever so slightly penetrating her. The need to feel his cock deep inside her again was written all over her face and Spike couldn’t resist teasing her, raising an eyebrow cheekily and asking, “What do you want?”

“I want you.”

He repeated his question, “What do you want?” and she knew the answer he was looking for.

“I want your cock in my pussy,” she answered and he obliged then, thrusting it in deep in one long stroke. He reached a thumb to her clit, rubbing ever-so-gently to start with, knowing she was sensitive from her previous orgasm. A delightful look crossed her face, the predicament between it feeling simultaneously incredible and almost-too-intense. He stopped for a moment, pulling his dick all the way out again and waiting until she caught her breath before thrusting it deep once more and resuming the circles on her clit. He was grateful for the wank he’d had earlier when he’d returned home that evening; the sight of Buffy’s blue thong alone might have made him bust a nut otherwise. Still, hearing her breathing quicken again was making it hard for him to last. 

He could tell she was on the verge as she protested weakly, “I can’t come any more.” He didn’t have time to act on her words before she came again, however, surprising herself but not Spike, who had felt how close she was before she spoke. This time, Spike came with her, groaning in pleasure as her pussy tightened around his cock. “You’re bloody amazing,” he said as he flopped down beside her. His bluntness took her by surprise and she leant over to kiss him. She had found it easier to be free with him sexually than she did with her words, although her mind echoed the sentiment. She was surprised how unashamed she felt to have laid down with her vampire foil. They ended up under the comforter somehow and Spike drew her in for a kiss and a cuddle. It was nice to be alone, properly, without the eyes of a CCTV camera watching their every move, and it was heavenly to be back in a proper bed with blankets.

“I’m surprised you don’t sleep in a coffin,” Buffy teased.

“Buffy, that joke was so obvious, I’m embarrassed on your behalf.” He kissed her gently on the top of her forehead and they began a conversation which flowed easily and lasted hours past bedtime, before they finally decided to call it a day. “Night, Slayer,” said Spike, “Kill you in the morning.”

She gave him one last kiss, soft and sweet. “Right back at you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it! Hope you enjoyed reading. I know it's left kinda open ended, I was intending to write more but it just seemed perfect to leave them on the brink of whatever happens next.
> 
> Would love to know your thoughts in the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read and enjoy, please leave a comment, I love to hear what your best bits are, or which plot lines you think work well! 
> 
> This is only my second ever story so feedback is really appreciated.


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